


In a Game With Terrible Odds

by doc_boredom



Series: Stellar Objects [3]
Category: TWRP | Tupper Ware Remix Party (Band)
Genre: Everyone has a secret, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Light Angst, Lore Building, Minor Violence, More characters to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Child Abuse, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, also i looked up everyone on ao3 and it said has problems and needs a hug, boy what a mood, but not necessary, canon typical angst, injuries to follow suit with said violence, pining!phobos, reading previous works is suggested
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doc_boredom/pseuds/doc_boredom
Summary: ‘Wanna talk?’ He offered, keeping his fingers aloft long after the words have been witnessed and understood...Sung shook his head. “I wanna do something.”Like what? The last time Sung had wanted to do “something” almost all of them had died. He must have been wearing quite the expression on his face because Sung was flapping his hands in response, pshaw-ing to the stars above. “Nothing like last time, silly. Just… go somewhere tourist-y. Fun. You know!”Phobos didn’t, but what was new there?-After their misadventures on Lumachroma and Metalion, the boys are trying to settle in a bit better around one another. In some ways, it's working, in other ways, it's not. Maybe they just need a vacation. But it's never just a vacation, is it? Especially when it comes to TWRP





	1. Gonna Take It All Away

It was a quiet almost morning upon the ship. Not a soul moving but his own as he tiptoed his way through the cramped hallways, his breath held tight in his chest. Quiet, quiet, quiet, he told himself in his native tongue as he cracked the fridge door open, allowing himself an outward sigh of relief when only the fan answered back.

Phobos leaned into the cold of the fridge, closing his eyes for a moment, temporarily forgetting why he had even come here in the first place. He couldn’t help it. His thoughts were still sleep heavy, desperate to become dreams once more. His stomach, on the other hand… That was it’s own beast, demanding sustenance, forcing him up and out of his perfectly comfortable bed.

Food. He chastised himself, opening his eyes blearily once more. Get. Food.

“Phobos.”

There was no mistaking that voice, grizzled and low, beseeching almost. Phobos felt himself go stiff all over, remaining head head first in the refrigerator, his fingers curling too tightly on the handle until his hand ached. So much for being good at sneaking around. The Lepid looked up finally, finding Meouch at the doorway, an entire room between them as he pressed his claws into the metal frame.

You kicked him just a week ago, something insisted inside his head without any kind of warning, and you laughed.

But last week, in that moment really, he had been nothing but the adrenaline still running through his veins after their defeat of the Anatta. Meouch had had his own haunted look in his eyes when Phobos had approached him, ears pinning, tail tucked between his legs as he crouched over the ship. “Sorry?” He had said with a forced casualness when Sung had explained the words he had spelled out. “Sorry fer what? I deserved-”

Phobos swallowed thickly and turned his face away. Once upon a time his hair would have been long enough to act as a curtain between him and the rest of the world, but it was too short now, shorn to his skull.

Whatever progress he had managed then was falling apart, fast. At least he could look at Havve without wanting to run the other way now. In fact, he had started to spend more time with the robot since their time on Lumachroma together, a fact that Sung could not get over and absolutely adored.

But Meouch. Meouch was still a raw and open wound, one that refused to heal over no matter how much time passed between the then and now of their intertwined lives.

Phobos closed the fridge, his earlier hunger forgotten, his insides a hollow pit. He ought to say something but there was the fact of his vow and that he was nearly out of breath just looking at the older boy.

Fire, terror, ash, blood… Meouch’s voice rising above it all somehow. “I wonder how easy it would be to just-” He had mused in a low voice, sounding incredibly sane as he trailed off moments before the Leoian ripped the very wings from his back.

I deserved, I deserved, I deserved, Meouch’s voice was a strange, unfinished litany that wouldn’t get out of his head. But no matter how many times the Leoian looked at him with sad, apologetic eyes; no matter how long this strained awkwardness went on for; no matter how he acted and said that he deserved this hate, this pain; his heart still refused, even as his head said said to let it go. You can never be friends with him. Never truly forgive him...

Meouch seemed to understand that it wasn’t going to happen tonight, at least. He averted his gaze and rocked back a step, tail curling around his front as he stepped out of the way. Phobos drew in another breath and locked it deep inside him as he forced himself past the other, eyes trained forward so as to not glance back by chance, by some strange compulsion, heart racing so hard and fast it could give Havve’s rapid fire drumming a run for it’s money.

He held it until he was in his room, in his bed, the helmet Sung had made him firmly in place upon his head. And then, only then, did Phobos release it before drawing it back in again, all too aware of how his everything shook as he did.

-

 _You have_ got _to be kidding me._

Sung looked up and found Havve shaking his head in disbelief, his optics trained on the object in Sung’s hands. The empath perked up before he extended it towards the robot, his smile growing. “Check it out! It’s almost done!”

Havve drew back his hands instead, covering the bottom half of his face plate, much like someone covering their mouth in horror, or maybe the kinder word to use would be ‘surprise’, Sung decided for himself. _It’s so…_ He was trying to find a word to describe it, Sung could tell. Struggling, really. _Tall._ He whispered in mystified revulsion. _Gods, Sung, you went and made yourself a cone..._

_Pylon, Havve. It’s called a pylon!_

Ever since their little misadventures on Lumachroma and Metalion, the piece of Lodestone that Baltaschchit had gifted him with had been burning a hole in his hip bag pocket, just begging to be fucked around with. Sung had found out that the moment his fingers closed around it everything and everyone but Havve would get pushed out of his head, the other fading fast the longer he held on.

It had been both strange and terrifying, but also wonderfully new. His entire life he had been inside people’s heads and hearts and now he wouldn’t have to be unless he wanted to.

A rush, a relief. New, new, new.

It had taken some work coming up with the perfect design, but it was here now in his hands, the rest of the prototypes scattered throughout his room, each uglier than the last. This one though. It was perfect. It was just missing one thing.

 _Pylon, cone, same difference. Gods._ Finally Havve took it into his hands, turning it over to study the design. _What is this!?_

Sung leaned over to see what he was getting at. Oh, yup. That. _Flashlight._ He explained.

Havve acted like he hadn’t heard him, his confusion growing. _And a visor!? Are you going to put this on your head, Sung?_

Sung rolled his eye. _Uh, duh?_

The robot gave him a look, flat and damning, before shoving it back at him. _I cannot believe you right now._ He shook his head with a sigh. _This and that suit you’re always wearing..._

Sung reeled back with a gasp. _Excuse you! Phobos has one too!_

 _That you gave him, Sung!_ Havve said, clenching his fists before splaying his fingers out. _Primary colors draw the eye, and now you’ll be putting that… thing on your head on top of it. You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb._

Sung put his pylon down and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing his cheeks out. _And?_

His fingers were clenching themselves into fists again, anger flaring with the action. _I am literally this close to killing you, Sung._ He pinched his fingers together, his optics going bloody bright in his skull. _I mean it._

Sung issued a laugh over their link, smirking as he did. _Then do it, bitch._

Havve started forward and Sung rolled off his bed with a shriek, scattering cones this way and that. “I yield, I yield, no killing! Fuck!”

 _Too. Late._ Havve grabbed his bare ankle, dragging him closer, his other hand going to his belt to draw out an eventual knife. _You’re a dead man, Sung._

_I’m seventeen, Havve! I’m too young to die!_

_Then perish._

“Ahem.”

They both look up and find Meouch there. “MY FRIEND!” Sung hollered. “YOU’VE COME TO HELP ME STRIKE DOWN THE BEAST! JUST IN TIME TOO! I WAS NEARLY KILLED-!”

“Doc, I’m gonna need you to tone it down a lil, yeah?” The older boy sighed. He looked uncomfortable and out of place, his hands not entirely too sure of where to go before he ended up tucking them under his armpits. “Can I have a moment with him, Hogan?” He asked Havve, who remained there without any kind of indication that he was going to get up and go, causing Meouch to roll his eyes and growl. “Alone.”

 _Tell him that’s a funny joke._ Havve hummed over their link, amused.

Sung shot him a pointed look before glancing over at Meouch apologetically. “I mean, that’s kind of impossible.” Especially now that the lodestone was in his gods damned helmet. “But I mean, Havve can’t talk, so. No big deal, right?”

Meouch’s eyes narrowed before he relented. He was back to being skittish and nervous again, any of his earlier fortitude and quick thinking gone once they had taken to the sky once more with Phobos and Havve in tow. It was a shame too because Sung had started liking that side of Meouch, the possibility of him…

“When’s the next time you’re running errands?”

They both immediately knew that wasn’t the question Meouch had originally come to the room with. There was some kind of earnestness in it though. A last minute, second thought kind of quality.

“Um, soon?” Were they running low on supplies? He hadn’t been out of his room much, and Havve didn’t eat so he didn’t notice these things, but it wasn’t just the two of them anymore, was it? “Any reason why?”

“Just… getting antsy.” The truth was revealing itself even if that wasn’t the Leoian’s intent. His desperate need to get off the ship flooding Sung’s senses, and in turn, washing over Havve’s.

Despite that, he smiled bright and wide. “Got you hooked already?”

It was supposed to be a joke about the fact that Meouch was already ready to go on another adventure again, but then Sung remembered who he was talking to. Really remembered. “Oh, gods, Meouch I-” The damage was already done. He was emptying out before Sung’s very eye, paws dropping to his sides, the light fading from his eyes. “I’m sorry. That was so fucking stupid.”

“Yeah. It was.” Meouch whispered back before he jerked out of the room without another word, leaving them behind in a silence of Sung’s own making, loud and roaring, impossible to ignore.

-

 

Walls up. Headphones on. Foot on the pedal and _pound_. He couldn’t be around Sung anymore, not when he was like this.

What had happened with Meouch had been unfortunate, and he understood why Sung was so upset with himself, but he was going to go insane if he lingered in that sadness anymore.

That’s why Havve was here now, bent over his drum kit, slamming the sticks into it savagely, pushing the limits of the BPM his body could churn out, trying to erase the lingering guilt that had been imprinted onto his consciousness via Sung. They came down on the cymbals, the snare, the toms- over and over until it matched the rapid tattoo of his 808, until he was nothing but that.

_More static, more emptiness…_

The first drumstick snapped in his grip, the memory of the Anatta jolting through him. He had lied to Sung when they had finally gotten a moment to be alone, his first ever secret, telling the empath that his doppelganger had simply attacked him. He didn’t need Sung knowing how he had almost torn himself apart in the throes of his mania.

How something in him had relished in it. The bloodlust, the battle, the invitation to kill.

Once upon a time that was all he had been. All he had knew.

H E Y. Someone played out on his drum.

Phobos.

The world became clearer. The younger boy was wearing a shirt of Sung’s, on accident or purpose, Havve couldn’t tell. He was smiling almost as their eyes met, as if waiting for a reason to, with his hand extended out towards Havve with a bouquet of…

Drumsticks?

His own laugh inside his head startled him. Y O U S H O U L D N ‘ T H A V E. He tapped back with his good one.

The smile finally made itself known, from one corner of his mouth to the other, stunning and bright. T H E N S T O P B R E A K I N G T H E M, H A V V E.

He would have never expected the Lepid to have this sassy, teasing side to him. He was so soft and careful around Sung, reverent almost. It felt like a second secret, even if it wasn’t anywhere near close to being one. S H O U L D N ‘ T Y O U B E P R A C T I C I N G Y O U R S I G N L A N G U A G E ? He wondered in their secret language, cocking his head in a judging way.

Phobos made a face before rounding the corner, studying the kit. When he was close like this it was all too easy to let his fingers find the inner crook of the Lepid’s arm, seeking out his pulse before beginning to drum his fingers along the other boy’s bare skin. This would have been impossible a week ago, Havve thought to himself. And now it came without second thought. Y O U C A N P L A Y I T I F Y O U W A N T.

Phobos’s rested his fingers over his. M A Y B E L A T E R. He tapped each letter out over each of Havve’s knuckles, smile softening. I T ‘ S N I C E W H E N Y O U P L A Y.

His optics went dim with disbelief. P L E A S E . I T ‘ S J U S T N O I S E.

_(More static, more emptiness, more nothing.)_

Phobos let out a barely there snort, shaking his head at Havve. T H E N F I N E T U N E I T. He pressed the drumsticks into the robot’s free hand and shifted away. Havve couldn’t help but notice Phobos was perched on the tips of his toes, making for a strange and lovely sight as he ghosted out of the room.

“ _Then fine tune it._ ” The voice he had made up for Phobos whispered in his head.

He pressed his foot to the pedal, softer this time, and began to play for a second time.

 

-

He found Sung all by his lonesome, curled up in the captain’s chair wrapped over a cone. At least, Phobos was certain it was a cone. Maybe it was something else…

“Hi Phobos.” He said miserably to the floor, spinning in aimless, slow circles. “How are you?”

Better than you, he grimaced with the thought. Sung stopped spinning momentarily and Phobos took advantage of it, rounding the corner of it to face Sung just like he had with Havve mere minutes before. ‘ _I’m okay._ ’ He signed, crouching in front of the other. ‘ _You?_ ’

“Gods awful.” He moaned, sounding absolutely miserable. Despite that he still moved his hands with his mouth as he spoke, slowly but surely. Sung was set learning sign language too, spurred on by Phobos’s own attempts, openly admitting that being able to actually talk with the Lepid instead of at him was a high ranking priority for him.

It was funny, Phobos couldn’t help but think. He had one secret language with Havve and one with Sung. It was easier that way. He still didn’t completely trust himself around the empath when it came to what he felt. Signing was still a struggle whose surface the Lepid had just begun to scratch, and having limitations in place made it easier not to say something he might immediately regret.

Still, he had already looked up how to say ‘ _I kind of like you_ ’ despite that, and he had perfected it because he was stupid like that.

 _I’m sorry._ ’ Phobos frowned, pushing those thoughts aside for now. ‘ _Can I help?_ ’

Sung’s rolled his shoulders back with a shrug before he looked up. He was unfairly handsome, even now with his lips turned down and his skin pallid with worry. Something in Phobos reasoned it was because he had never really seen another alien before the massacre outside of pictures in books and in vid feeds, but then Sung smiled, and he laughed, and it got a little harder to convince himself otherwise every time.

“Nah, I’ll be okay soon enough.” His hands didn’t move that time because they were too busy fussing with Phobos’s hair, brushing through the short locks. “S’finally starting to grow out.” He said in a fond voice.

If only he could leash a torquinet on his heart. It stuttered now in his chest and Phobos was so afraid the empath would notice, but Sung’s fingers remained, his smile blissful and ignorant.

‘ _What’s this?_ ’ He managed, taking whatever miracle that had just befallen him without question or a second guess. Sung looked down then at the cone and turned and smiled, drawing his hands back, which was both a relief and a disappointment.

“It’s my new helmet!” He explained excitedly, holding it up to turn it left and right. “S’pylon with that lodestone Baltaschchit gave me packed inside. I won’t get in your guys’s heads anymore when I’ve got it with me.”

Talk about luck. Blessed be Fortuna. Phobos smothered his smile down and managed a fascinated nod in turn because all and all it actually was very interesting. “I can maybe show you guys how to put up walls too.” Sung was saying to himself. “Meouch is always getting frustrated…” He trailed off, his core flickering.

Something had happened with Meouch, it seemed.

That was good, right? He ought to be happy with the fact but he can’t be, his head and heart clashing once more. ‘ _Wanna talk?_ ’ He offered, keeping his fingers aloft long after the words have been witnessed and understood. He could touch Sung’s hands with his, it’d be so easy. Sung did it all the time with him, and so did Havve now that they were close, but there was something about him enacting it that felt forbidden. Not allowed.

Sung shook his head. “I wanna do something.”

Like _what?_ The last time Sung had wanted to do “something” almost all of them had _died_. He must have been wearing quite the expression on his face because Sung was flapping his hands in response, pshaw-ing to the stars above. “Nothing like last time, silly. Just… go somewhere tourist-y. Fun. You know!”

Phobos didn’t, but what was new there? Lumachroma and the planet whose name he couldn’t even recall (the one where he had fought Meouch) had been the only other two planets he had been to besides his own in his entire life. The words ‘tourist-y’ and ‘fun’ didn’t really register on his radar. “It’s been forever since I’ve been to Mojave.” Sung sighed out, still watching the stars.

Mojave! Mojave was a carousel of whatever you could dream of and more that most couldn’t be bothered to get off of once they hopped on. Mojave had no other purpose outside of giving people an escape. That was if they were lucky, of course. There were rumors that it was a trap, a planet shrouded in shadow and mystery as much as it was in lust and light. ‘ _You went to Mojave_?’ Phobos marveled once he looked back down again.

“Yeah, me’n’Havve a whiles back. We uh… met a friend there once.” Sung faltered and looked away, but he couldn’t hide that telltale flicker in his chest. A friend? He had thought Sung was an open book, telling all, but here he was with a secret of his own. “It’s pretty wild.”

Mojave, his heart said again, this time with pained sadness. Because Deimos would never see Mojave or Lumachroma or even the Federation’s space station Institution. He would forever be fifteen in Phobos’s heart, carried with him forever.

 _‘Then let’s go._ ’

For Deimos, and for himself, and because he couldn’t stand to see Sung sad anymore either.

Sung’s eye went wide, nearly bugging out of his skull. “Wait, what?”

 _‘Let’s go. I have my helmet now, there’s nothing stopping us._ ’ He paused, unable to keep himself from smirking. ‘ _Except for Havve._ ’

“I swear, you two are bringing out the best in each other.” That fond note had found it’s way into his voice once more. “If he says no you’re my back up. There’s no way he can say it to you, Phobs. I know I can’t.” Those hands were on the crown of his head, tousling his hair, becoming increasingly familiar in a way that Phobos couldn’t get enough of.

“I just hope Meouch is okay with it.” Sung mused suddenly, his hands pausing their ministrations. Right. Meouch. He had forgotten that very important part of their equation.

‘ _We’ll just have to wait and see_.’ Phobos managed, his heart pounding, his head aching, everything beginning to regret what he had just set into a motion.

Like a carousel spinning faster and faster until it spiraled out of control.

 

-

Why did these things always seem to happen in the gods damned kitchen?

This should have been a place of respite. A self made safety zone. And yet the moment Meouch cracked open the box of instant mac and cheese Sung entered the room.

Got you hooked already? Meouch knew the empath hadn’t meant it like that, but it still tore through him like a bullet. No, not like a bullet he nearly realized with a grim laugh, like a sword.

Sung looked at him for a moment, pulling at the dangly bits of his hoodie before opening his mouth to speak. “...Mind throwing in another?”

Now that he hadn’t been expecting.

“I’m not going to actually eat that much.” Meouch tried to reason by Sung was already shaking his head, fervently almost.

“No, no, I don’t think you understand. I love this shit. It’s so good. I could eat two whole boxes by myself.”

Gods, it was hard to stay mad at him. Too earnest, too honest, too good. Meouch reached up and grabbed another box. He hadn’t been wrong earlier when he had pointed out that they were running low on food. There wasn’t much to cook with around here anymore. Not that he was a good cook by any means either, but the idea of cooking was always appealing. It gave him a sense of control. Measurement by measurement, not a thing out of place, the temptation to do something else or something more spelling eventual disaster.

They danced around each other easily, mostly in part due to how small the empath was. Sung grabbed a larger pot from one of the cabinets and poured the first one out into it, adding a dash of salt to the water before twisting the stove knob until flames sighed to life under the metal. Meouch poured in the two boxes and with that, there wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

“Hey.” Of course Sung would want to talk. Meouch nearly cringed away from him, his fingers already seeking out the cigarette pack on his vest. “...You can smoke, if you want.” Sung must have noticed it too and yet again Meouch despised how easily the boy could just slip into his head unwanted, whenever he wanted, even if he didn’t mean to.

“...I’m good.” No, he’d power through this. Whatever the fuck Sung intended to say or do, he didn’t need a crutch for it.

“Y’know earlier I was talking with Phobos,” Sung led in and something loosened inside of Meouch with it. At least he wasn’t trying to apologize about what had happened earlier again. Meouch wasn’t sure if he could bear it right now. “And you know… you mentioned being low on supplies too, so I was thinking maybe we uh, could go somewhere.”

He already had the somewhere in mind, it seemed. Meouch could see the faint glimmer of excitement in his eye all the way from here. Sung continued, leaning himself up agianst the counter as he did. “And I was hoping to get your vote, because honestly I think convincing Havve is going to be the hardest part.”

“Another team building exercise? I thought you learned better from the first one.” And hopefully their last. Ever since they had returned from Metalion his nightmares had been plagued by Baltaschchit, which was awful, sure, but somehow also a blessing in disguise. No more Phobos, no more Deimos, no nameless Lepid’s burning up before his very eyes or torn apart by his own claws; just endless running, running, running through that desolate jungle until his legs finally gave out...

Until Baltaschchit finally dragged him back down into that dreaming dark yet again, where he would fade from memory as sleep claimed him, forever this time around.

Sung suddenly looked pained, which was probably his fault. As usual. Why was it that Phobos seemed to be settling in just fine as he kept drifting further and further away? Why couldn’t he grin and bear it and just make this work already? Friends. That’s all Sung was asking of them, all that he wanted, and he couldn’t even manage that. _It’s because you don’t belong,_ that stupid voice inside his head hissed gleefully, his brand pulsing with it. _You’re the odd one out._

But there had been those moments inside of Baltaschchit, when Sung had begged him not to go afterwards, when he had consoled the empath on the ship when they had been unsure of what had happened to Phobos and Havve. It had felt natural, good, the complete opposite of what was happening now.

Why couldn’t he just be better already?

Why was it taking so long?

“Meouch-” Sung started right as the stove flames hissed. “Oh, shit!” It had started to boil over, demanding their attention. He screwed the dial the other way, managing his own hiss as the water splashed over his fingers. “Hot! Hot! Damn it! Son of a bitch!”

“Gods, c’mere.” He grabbed Sung’s wrist in his paw, turning his hand over, sucking in a breath at the sight of the pink-red that now scoured his index and middle finger, as well as his thumb. “C’mon Sung.” He chastised the other with a shake of his head.

“C’mon what!? I was saving our noodles.” The empath muttered sourly, wincing. “They’ll be fine. Just fingers.”

“ _Just_ fingers!” He barked back, rolling his eyes as he pulled the younger boy over to the sink. “You say that now, but when you lose them, you’re not gonna be able to make any of your fancy projects.” Or play your synth, for that matter, he very nearly adds.

“...I almost let Baltaschchit bite my arm off.”

He shoves his hand under the water with Sung's, not realizing it, too shocked to. “You what?” Meouch managed, brain still trying to make sense of it.

“When I was trying to save you. Originally I was going to run a current through it to demagnetize it, but then it went and turned one of it’s eyes into a mouth.” Sung’s laugh was rough, nearly breaking apart. “I was so tired and desperate, I just told it to do it, said I could just build another one. S’just an arm, right?” He shrugged his shoulders violently, glancing away. Had he not told Havve this? The robot would have been livid if he knew Sung was being so careless…

So selfless, he corrected himself. Stupidly selfless, but selfless nevertheless.

“Idiot.” Meouch huffed, shaking his head.

Sung issued a sad noise, dropping his head, his core going dim and dark. “That’s me alright.”

Their hands were still knotted up under the cold water and if he wasn’t looking Meouch wouldn’t have been able to tell where he started and Sung ended like this. That’s what it felt like being here, living here, a tangle whose source he was still trying to find after all this time. It would just take one good tug and the whole thing would finally unravel, leaving something straightforward and beautiful behind.

Meouch squeezed his fingers, sighing again. “Don’t get mopey on me, doc. Call me a name, fight back.” How many times had the Panthera talked down to him until he felt like he was next to nothing? Something was building inside of him at the memory, inexplicable. “Don’t be a little bitch.”

“I’m not!” The noodles were boiling over again but he held on strong, clamping his paws around Sung’s fingers even tighter. “Meouch!”

“Fight back and I’ll say yes.” He breathed, something in him thrilling at the idea, desperate for it.

And that’s how Sung’s non-burnt fingers clenched themselves into a fist moments before they slammed right into his unprotected stomach. “OH GODS!” Sung screamed as he doubled in over himself, wheezing with it. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO IT THAT HARD!”

He tipped his head back with a delighted roar. “...Now that’s what I’m talking about!” He punched his own fist against Sung’s shoulder, infinitely more gentle but still hard enough to get him to stumble back a few steps. “That was good!”

Sung’s mouth fell open. “It was awful!” He yelped, horrified.

Meouch grinned despite himself. “Well, either way, it’s a yes.” He paused then and looked over at the pan. “Also, we probably need to start from scratch.”

The empath made an apologetic face. “I think those were the last two.”

Just their luck. He had finally pulled his head out of his ass only to run out of food. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re going on that supply run.” Meouch put a hand over his stomach, rubbing it absently. Kid packed a good punch. “Where are we going that’d get Hogan so upset anyways?”

“Oh, you know.” Sung said as he grabbed a pair of oven mitts, deciding to be smart this time. “Just Mojave. I was thinking of taking a vacation after all the bullshit on Metalion anyways.”

This time the blow was verbal, akin to a slap. Mojave. Sung really wanted to take him to Mojave. That gods damned den of iniquity, that absolute clusterfuck. No, no, no. Just about anywhere but there. It was crawling with Panthera and bastards in his father’s pocket. Someone would see him, recognize him, call him out.

It was never _just_ Mojave, not to him.

“Okay.” He strangled out despite knowing Sung could feel the anxiety that climbed all the way from his tail up to the top of his spine. “Mojave it is.”

“We can go somewhere else…” Sung started but he held his wet paw up. No more hiding, no more running. He was going to start facing the things head on. If he could do this, then he could finally really talk to Phobos, start working towards making amends.

“Don’t worry about it. Just… excited, is all.” He lied, knowing Sung could see right through him. “Just hope Hogan’s ready for it.”

“I don’t think any of us are.” Sung almost said to himself as he poured the water down the drain.

Understatement of the year.


	2. Where it Lands is Anyone's Guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop whoop new chapter! if you weren't aware i now have a NEW tumblr it's stonelajizzmo (currently) until tumblr (HOPEFULLY) gives me back my old one.  
> i just want those urls...  
> and martina...
> 
> anyways! hope you enjoy! lots of crazy stuff is gonna come up. I'm estimating no more than five chapters for this one but you never know

“Do you think I should bring a swimsuit?”

Phobos snorted from where he was leaned up against Sung’s bed, covering his face, his smile really, with a shake of his head. It was him, Havve, and the Lepid in his room together, nearly the perfect picture in Sung’s mind. All the strange pylon constructs he had been working on were stacked in an opposite corner, making way for the explosion of clothing that had taken over his entire floor.

_ And why would you need a swimsuit, Sung _ ? Havve inquired, not so secretly judging him.

“I don’t know, it’s a vacation, Havve!” He shot back, not having it. 

Phobos laughed again despite only having heard half the conversation and it sounded so natural, Sung couldn’t help but note. Shaped by a childhood brimming with goodness and joy, even as his lungs tried to constrict it and turn it breathless. It drew the empath in without warning, causing him to really look at the younger boy. He was filling out, no longer just made up of skin and bones...

His dark eyes unsquinched themselves as his laughter ended and in an instant their eyes caught.

“Right, Phobos?” Sung asked suddenly as Havve made a throat clearing sound inside of his head, flustered, forgetting to sign along with his words like he ought to.

_ “Is it?” _ Phobos’s hands fluttered back as his features relaxed. “ _ I’ve never been on a vacation before, I wouldn’t know. _ ” 

God’s be damned if it wasn’t. Sung was going to do everything in his power to ensure that this was going to be a vacation if it killed him. “Once we get there, you’ll understand.” The pleasure planet was inexplicable, really. The terraforming only went so far too, one of Sung’s favorite parts about it. The desert that surrounded the jewel was seemingly infinite, painted in the finest saffrons, royal violets, goldenrod. “They say only  _ Lady World _ rivals Mojave in it’s splendor.” Sung informed them in a suave radio announcer voice, waggling his brow as he did.

Havve’s hands went up in disbelief, their link tightening with sudden scrutiny.  _ Not this again. Don’t start telling Phobos fairytales, Sung. _

Sung puffed up at the other’s tone, balling a shirt up to throw at Havve only to miss. “It is  _ not _ a fairytale, it’s real!”

Phobos reached over and began to tap at Havve’s knee joint pointedly until the robot returned the favor on the top of his hand. “Hey, hey!” Sung started, crawling towards them on his hands and knees, realizing too late what was going on. “No secret talk in front of me! What’re you telling him, Havve?!”

Havve was still tapping away, his optics trained on Sung the entire time.  _ He’s just curious, is all, he’s never heard of it before.  _ Havve said, keeping his tone innocuous across their unwavering link.  _ Maybe if you had read that book I gave you... _

Sung threw another shirt at him and Havve batted it away without a blink. Bastard. Sung lunged closer, knocking Havve’s hand away. “Whatever he’s telling you is BS, Phobos. Lady World is the most amazing place in all of space!” It was paradise, a modern day Xanadu! Or so it was rumored to be… He hadn’t actually gone. At least, not yet. “It’s very,  _ very _ real! And one of these days we’re all going to go, and it’s gonna be amazing!”

_ “But we’re boys?” _ Phobos signed, wincing with the fact. 

Sung opened his mouth, eager to explain just how exactly that worked only to have Havve throw the same shirt from before right at his face. “Hey!” He blustered, reeling back.

Another one followed suit, and then another, and suddenly Phobos was reaching down to throw one as well, giggling as it hit it’s mark. “Guys! C’mon! Stop!” But if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want them to stop. This is all he had wanted, after all. Friends. Companions. There was just one piece missing.

Meouch.

Sung still couldn’t forget the cold wash of fear that had gone down the older boy’s spine when he had announced that their destination, his own chest going tight with it. Meouch had been quick to smother it, but it still lingered in the air long after, pricking at Sung’s senses and core. Fear, panic, loathing. All sorts of horrible things. What was it like to live like that? To always be looking over your shoulder, afraid of your own shadow? 

That and the fact that he had punched him too! Gods, how could he be so stupid? 

_ “Thinking.” _ Phobos signed at Sung, grabbing his attention once more.  _ “Too hard.” _

Havve chuffed a laugh in his mind, squeezing Phobos’s fingers as he did.  _ Little shit. _ Havve said almost to himself, his voice tinged with fondness. 

Sung sniffed imperiously as he gathered his clothes up into his arms. He was jealous but  _ not _ . Jealous for all the wrong reasons, he supposed. Lumachroma’s events had brought Havve and Phobos together in ways that it hadn’t for him and Meouch, and he was still slightly bitter about it, even if he was happy that they were actually getting along. There was the fact too that Havve could touch Phobos and not have to second guess it, think about what it could be misconstrued as. 

That impossible thing from before their misadventures still knocked its way around his brain. Like the day before, when Sung had realized Phobos was wearing one of his shirts way too late. Had that been an accident? Had he given it to him without thinking? Did Phobos even know? Or like just now, when their eyes met. There had been some kind of unspeakable significance in the action. 

Something waiting to be defined. 

He’s just a kid, a year and a half younger than you Sung. Nearly two. You saved his life and gave him a home. Give it time. It’ll pass. It’s just hero worship. Really, it was just impossible. That was more or less the litany of reasons he kept telling himself.

And that’s what kept getting harder and harder to believe every day they were together like this. 

_ Me or Phobos?  _ Sung asked, eager to get out of that damning headspace of his. Havve cut him a glance, his fingers still loose in the Lepid’s, completely at ease. He didn’t have the same internal struggle as Sung, it seemed. Must be nice. 

_ Both, for different reasons. _

_ Uh-huh. _

_ Yours is because you’re short. _

_ Fuck off.  _

A smile hinged itself into Havve’s voice as he continued. And  _ Phobos is because I like him.  _

Sung’s eye narrowed.  _ Remember when you didn’t want either of them on the ship, Havve?  _ He shot back, bitterness getting the best of him.

_ Things change.  _ A pause followed in which Havve’s optics went dim, head listing to the side aimlessly.  _ People too. _

Phobos slipped his fingers out from Havve’s and knocked them against his faceplate, giggling softly as the robot straightened out and glared at him. He too was emanating a soft fondness, his comfort in the moment palpable, soothing Sung’s earlier concerns. Things  _ did _ change, people too. 

It was only a matter of time.

-

Sung had left his synthesizer out in typical Sung fashion. Meouch had found it in the captain’s chair, balanced just so between the arms. Out of place while simultaneously looking like it belonged right there, nowhere else.

Just like a certain tiny son of a bitch.

He had been ignoring them again, doing what he did best ever since that strange interaction in the kitchen- but he had to leave his room sometimes for the bathroom, for food, for sanity’s sake. Usually when it was late and he could wander without consequence, or when they were all together like they were now. 

So much for the promise of facing things head on.

He sighed and went to move it, hesitating. The keys looked so fresh, ebony and ivory, just like his mother’s piano…

Meouch sat instead, carefully maneuvering the instrument until it was poised over his lap as he sank back into the chair. “This is stupid.” He told himself as he stared down at the synth, stomach tying itself into infinite knots. What was he doing in Sung’s chair with Sung’s synthesizer of all things? What would he say if any of them came into the room to see him like this?

And yet he couldn’t pull himself away until he pressed one digit against a key, letting the sound swell around him. It wasn’t like the gentle drawing out of a note on a grand piano, which you could lean yourself into, foot to pedal, hammer to cord, coaxing it to ring out longer on the air. Still, it was close enough to play pretend, for his fingers to remember a melody and insist he play it. Something his mother had taught him years ago.

Lives ago.

Someone moved at the doorway halfway through and it took everything in him not to panic and skitter. It was equal parts embarrassment and also muscle memory from when other  _ Panthera _ would find him doing something he shouldn’t. No one was going to drag you into a corner to beat you raw, Meouch. No one was going to take you to the Commander to prove a point, gain a favor, show off...

Havve revealed himself, ever the reaper that Sung had shaped him into for whatever gods damned reason. “...Hogan.” He said by means of greeting, his voice low, fingers hovering just above the keys. “I’m not gonna break it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The robot neared, his parts creaking as he did, completely unreadable. Not here, Meouch, he reassured himself, thankful that neither of his voices had appeared in response. He couldn’t not draw in a sharp breath when Havve reached into one of the bags hanging off his belt though, loosing it only after the robot pulled out a notepad and pen. ‘It’d be pretty funny if you did.’ He wrote, eyes flickering with… amusement?

His whiskers twitched as he tried to get a sense of what Havve was getting at. “It’s too nice for that.” He admitted after a beat. It was also too easy to picture Sung’s face when he saw the wreckage. That same broken, hurt expression that found its way to his face all too easily for a boy who smiled so much, a small bit of acceptance shining through like it had in the kitchen.

No, he wouldn’t do that to Sung. Couldn’t. 

Havve stepped closer, tipped his head down towards Meouch, the sound of drums emanating from somewhere deep within him. ‘That’s a good answer.’ Havve told him under the first line, pen strokes fast and certain. 

Meouch felt his jaw tense. “Was that a test?”

‘Maybe.’ Again, that flicker of maybe-amusement, or maybe something else... 

“Shitty test.” Meouch huffed, glancing the other way.

Havve simply moved around the chair to look at him once more, shoving the notebook at him until he finally relented and looked. ‘I didn’t know you played. I’m assuming that wasn’t from your smuggling days.’ It read.

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” It was almost refreshing, in a way, despite being too personal. Sung tiptoed around him only to trip, flail, fall, whereas Phobos was all too eager to play keepaway. But Havve… Havve didn’t have those same tendencies. Havve hunted. Havve  _ stalked _ . As much of a predator as he was. “No, it wasn’t.” Meouch growled, his claws unsheathing on the keys. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

He leaned down right into Meouch’s space, every bit of him unabashed as he penned out his response. 

‘Alright.’ 

Havve moved away but didn’t do him the favor of leaving, instead leaning into the nearest command console, working through page after digital page until he apparently found what he was looking for. A 3D model of Mojave appeared, drawing Meouch’s attention despite his best efforts, like a hover accident on the side of the road. They’d be there by tomorrow if they made good time, maybe the following day before the artificial sun graced the rooftops if Fortuna’s favor fell elsewhere, but Mojave never slept anyways. 

Meouch knew that all too well. 

“I’m surprised Sung didn't pick Serendipity if wanted to take a vacation.” Meouch grumbled, forcing himself to stop looking at it before he fell into a black hole of memories. His focus found the synth once more, causing him to stare at the white-black of the keys until his eyes burned. He looked up and blinked. “What’s so great about Mojave, anyways?”

Havve seemed to tense before he shrugged his shoulders, nearly too fast to be seen. Huh, there was a story there, it seemed. Interesting. “Think we can convince him otherwise?” Meouch tried then, hoping the offer didn’t sound too hopeful, too desperate really. Maybe there was still a chance to turn around, to leave the sleeping beast alone like it ought to be. 

Havve half turned from the waist up, holding the notepad up at Meouch. ‘You know how Sung gets.’ He read. ‘And Phobos is excited now too.’

What if I told you what was laying in wait down there. The monsters hidden behind the glitter and glitz and too wide smiles, the shadow that stretched just below the surface, waiting to swallow lesser men up, like Baltaschchit. ‘We went once, long ago. Sung likes it.’ Havve added, flipping a page. ‘When we first got our bearings, after we found each other, Mojave was almost like our first home.’

A heart heavy sigh wrenched out of him, unbidden. “Must’ve been nice.”

Havve tilted his head until it looked painful, causing the Leoian flush under his fur. Stupid. So stupid. He had to stop being like this. Once again, Havve approached, impossible to ignore as he lumbered closer. A piece of paper was shoved on top of the synth board but Meouch refused to look at it, look at  _ him _ , until the robot left the room.

‘Some things’ It stated in Havve’s impeccable text, ‘are better left unsaid.’

-

Phobos could tell Sung was nervous.

The empath was pacing, gesturing this way and that with his cone. “I was so busy working on my pylon that I didn’t even get your jetpack done, Phobos. No thanks to Havve!” He added, shooting his robot companion a dirty look. “Why didn’t you remind me after your repairs were done?”

Havve offered him a flick of his middle finger in response, causing the empath to shriek at the top of his lungs.

_ “It’s okay.” _ Phobos signed, not even sure if they could see it, grimacing sympathetically behind his helmet. _ “I still have this.”  _

Just outside the hatch door Mojave was waiting, and they were waiting for Meouch. The latter fact did not sit with with the Lepid. Space would help, he reasoned with himself. If he could just have a day, a moment in time in which he didn’t feel like Meouch would show up out of nowhere to throw him off his rhythm, maybe he could set aside his differences for once, find the middle ground between his head and his heart.

Maybe he was just looking for excuses. 

Maybe he was nervous too.

He trotted up to Sung, his veins fizzing with excitement and nerves.  _ “Let’s go. _ ” He asked before he could chicken out. 

“But Meouch-” Sung started, frowning. Havve brought a hand up and inclined his head towards the empath, speaking to him over their link. “Are you sure?” Sung finally asked. “That’s not really fair.” More silence followed and Sung made a face halfway through. “You don’t need to be rude, asshole!”

Havve’s steady gaze found his before he tossed his head towards the door. G-O. H-A-V-E F-U-N. I-L-L F-I-N-D Y-O-U. He clicked into Phobos’s helmet.

I-F Y-O-U-R-E S-U-R-E. Phobos tapped back, his guilt creeping up on him.

I J-U-S-T T-O-L-D S-U-N-G T-O F-U-C-K O-F-F. Havve’s optics winked and Phobos knew that the robot would be smiling if he could. G-O O-N. Y-O-U D-E-S-E-R-V-E I-T.

His own lips pulled up at the corners as he mouthed his thanks behind his mouthpiece.  _ “Well, you heard him.” _ He signed, fingers shaking with excitement, heart singing with it, his lungs almost seeming to swell.  _ “C’mon!” _

Sung cast one last look over his shoulder before he looked at Phobos, his core beginning to brighten as he pulled his pylon on. “Okay, close your eyes.” He had chosen not to be in the cockpit with Sung and Havve as they descended, wanting to keep it a surprise until he was physically able to touch his feet down upon the ground. “And take my hand.”

Holding onto Sung’s hand was different from holding onto Havve’s. The robot’s hands were smooth and cold, Sung’s were callused and warm. It was the intent behind it too. When his hand was in Havve’s it was a reminder of what was real (them, the moment, and what had come to pass) but with Sung, Phobos couldn’t help but think it was a promise of possibility, of what was to come.

The hatch door opened slowly with a tremendous groan. Even with his eyes closed he could see the sun as it spilled over them. It painted the insides of his lids with fire moments before the dry heat followed suit. He issued a pleased sigh at the feeling, hand tightening in Sung’s. “Okay, careful now.” That had to be part of it too, Phobos reasoned, trying to tamp his eager heart down. Holding hands with Havve was never an act of trust. It was because he wanted to, because the action brought comfort and felt right no matter what. “Watch your step.”

Phobos stumbled despite the other’s best efforts as they reached the bottom, gasping as he fell into Sung. “Whoops!” Sung laughed against the side of his helmet, steadying him. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You okay, Phobs?”

Yes, he almost said out loud, unable to help himself. He caught it at the last second, giving a jerky nod of instead. “Maybe I should just carry you.” Sung offered as they began to right themselves, still half laughing, still touching him. His eyes were still closed as Sung said it, making it all too easy to imagine the sight of him curled up in the other’s arms, safe and sound.

Thank the gods for that damn cone, Phobos thought seconds later, because this was getting out of hand.

“You can open your eyes now.” Right. He did just that, mouth falling open as he saw what lay ahead of them. Glittering glass and matte steel, hoverbikes zooming by above head, aliens of every shape and size and species and humans too! Phobos’s grip tightened as he craned his head up and around, trying to see everything that he could… Pagodas, palm trees parthenons, pyramids and monoliths; hotels, shops, restaurants galore. 

It was impossible.

It was magnificent.

It was  _ Mojave,  _ through and through.

“Come on.” Sung’s hand was covering his again, urging him forward. “I don’t know if it’s still here but there’s this one place with the best gelato you’ve ever tasted. Like, on par with anything you could get on Earth, or so I’ve been told. We can even ride a gondola if you want, or go up on Stratosphere.” Nothing he was saying was making sense but Phobos was already yearning and eager for what was to come.

He cast one last glance back at the ship for just a moment, worry catching up to him. S-E-E Y-O-U S-O-O-N? He clicked at Havve nervously. Separating again, so soon after Lumachroma and Metalion...

S-T-O-P W-O-R-R-Y-I-N-G A-B-O-U-T M-E D-A-M-N I-T. H-A-V-E F-U-N. A pause, made sharp by the very essence of Havve. O-R E-L-S-E.

Phobos shook his head and let it drop, letting the comm channel fall to silence between them. He looked at Sung, now sporting that ridiculous cone hat of his, smiling under the impossible sun. 

“Ready?” The empath implored.

_ “Ready.” _ He signed back.

At least, he hoped he  was. 

They grabbed quite a few glances as they began to make their way down the crowded strip. It was an odd feeling, Phobos realized, to be watched without anyone actually know who or what he was. He didn’t really exist when it came to any of these people. He was nothing but ash on the wind to them, along with the rest of his kind, without a face, a name, any kind of story that could be remembered or told. 

No, he told himself as his lungs went tight, Sung knows you, and Havve, and even Meouch. Despite the self made reassurance he found himself reaching out to other boy, grabbing at his fingers frantically until they slid together and locked. “Phobos.” Sung said, voice going low with growing concern as he stopped and turned, core painfully bright in his chest. The Lepid squeezed Sung’s hand, sucking in a slow breath before straightening himself out. 

_ “I’m okay.” _ He signed with one hand. _ “Just… a little overwhelmed.” _ It wasn’t a lie.

“It’s a lot.” Someone bumped their shoulder with Sung and gave him a dirty look, which the empath ignored. “You should have seen us when we first got here. I was practically high from all the different people and feelings, Havve nearly short circuited a few times until we found somewhere to chill, adjust.” 

Sung at his age, younger even, his arms out as he was swallowed up by the limitless crowd. Is that how he had found his friend, Phobos wondered absently. _ “I can only imagine.” _ He signed before loosing a sigh.  _ “I’m okay now, we can keep going.” _ He didn’t want to worry Sung. He wanted to be brave, strong. Someone Sung admired, saw as his equal even…  _ “Gotta see what a gondola is, after all.” _ He joked, for both his sake and Sung’s.

Still, the empath’s hand didn’t leave his, even as he nodded and they continued on.

And if he was being honest with himself, Phobos liked it better that way anyway.

They only got lost once, and Phobos couldn’t even blame Sung. There was so much happening. Holograms purring at them to step into casinos to try their luck, drunken revelry taking place right on the sidewalk. The best part is when a group of wide eyed girls came up to them before they could start walking again, blocking their path until they pushed one of their friends forward into the fray. “ _ Sugoi! _ ” She gushed after a moment of wide eyed staring. “ _ Sumimasen... Isshoni shashin wo torasete moraemasuka? _ ” 

Sung gave a nervous laugh, apparently understanding whatever language she spoke. “Oh no, we’re not-” 

_ “What’s she asking?” _ Phobos asked, brow pinching behind his visor.

Sung scratched at his cone, his cheeks coloring. “If she can take a picture with me.” He explained under his breath. 

“And… your friend.” She interjected, her Universal thickly accented. “Very cool! Like retro  _ super sentai! _ ” Her friends giggled and she shushed them, stamping her foot in embarrassment before bowing deeply at them. “ _ Onegaishimasu! _ I will pay. Promise!” 

_ “Why not?” _ He had seen other people doing it, prowling the streets in costume and vivid paint, offering to take photos and selfies for various credits.  _ “Sounds fun!” _

“Aw, jeeze…” Sung really  _ was _ blushing! What a sight. Phobos loved it immediately. He wasn’t used to see the empath caught off guard.  _ “Tell her her friends can join too, Sung. It’ll be great.” _ Phobos signed before nudging him in the ribs, grinning wildly despite none of them being able to see it.  _ “Unless you’re... camera shy?” _

“I am  _ not  _ camera shy!” Sung barked, causing all of the girls to titter in response. He blanched and covered his visor with his hands, issuing an embarrassed sound. “Okay, okay. Gather round ladies, c’mon now.” They all but rushed them, speaking at each other in their native tongue until one pulled out a phone, tapping at the screen until everything was softer looking and tinged in pink. If only they could see him without his helmet. They’d probably flip. Sung must have had the same idea because he was glancing over with a hint of a smirk, getting back to his usual self. 

“On three, strike a pose!” The first girl cheered as they all got into position.  _ “Seeeno…!” _

He thought to bring up both hands in dual peace signs just in time for the shutter to go off. He saw Sung smiling on his end, his tongue peeking out between his teeth, his own hand thrown up in an ‘ok’ sign.  _ “Kawaii!” _ They all seemed to scream in unison at the end product, apparently pleased at the results. 

“ _Arigatou!_ Thank you!” Was the chorus of gratitude they shouted at them as they ran off. The one that had dared to approach them lingered, digging into her fanny pack until she found a handful of coins to dump into Sung’s unsuspecting hands. “It’s yen, from my country back home.” She informed Phobos as he peered at them before glancing up at Sung, pushing her dark hair back from her eyes. _“Sentai-san, nihongo wo hanashimasuka?”_ When she spoke like that it sounded so smooth and pleasant, like water sighing over stone.

“ _ Hai, hanashimasu _ _. _ Even though I’ve never been.” Sung said back, his accent near perfect. “I’ve studied karate, too.” 

“You really are a sentai!” She squealed, clapping her hands together excitedly at the news. “I hope to see you in Japan one day, and your friend too.” She added with a wink before she scampered away to join her friends. 

_ “Well then.” _ Phobos directed at the empath well after they had left.  _ “That happened.” _ He didn’t know what else to say. The moment had been both strange and magical, and definitely something he wouldn’t forget any time soon. 

“...Yeah.” Sung said slowly. “Maybe we should go to Earth after this.” He nodded to himself, becoming more certain with the action. “Maybe Japan.”

Earth. Even as they had been deigned to become Universal Emissaries by the Lepid Elders before the massacre, never in his life could Phobos ever imagine going to  _ Earth _ . It was too far and not important enough to their cause, light years behind the rest of the galaxy. But now, in this life, in this  _ after _ that Sung had given him… it was possible. As easy as saying yes or no. 

_ “I think I’d like that. But first.” _ He decided to be brave, letting himself touch Sung’s shoulder.  _ “Gelato.” _ He spelled out with his free hand.

Sung threw his head back with an earnest laugh, his shoulder moving under Phobos’s hand, armor lifting with the action on his small form. “How could I forget?” He dimpled under his visor. “Gelato and gondolas it is.”

-

Havve waited five minutes, ten, moving only once to lean himself against the side of the ship. He didn’t even have to, really. He could stand stock still for hours at a time and not be inconvenienced by the fact, but he was feeling very human in that moment, and very, very annoyed.

He turned towards where Meouch could appear at any moment and gave an internal sigh, knowing full well he wouldn’t any time soon.

At least Sung was having fun. Havve could feel it from here, with leagues of space between them and that stupid helmet of his making it less poignant than he was used to. Sung’s joy was still nearly tangible as he and Phobos plunged further into Mojave’s splendor side by side. No need to ruin that. He reigned in his current annoyance and withdrew from the empath’s mind as subtly as possible, trying his best not to disturb him. He had agreed to staying behind, after all.

Still, another minute ticked by, and then another.

At the top of fifteen he couldn’t help it. He moved for the second time, his feet taking him right to Meouch’s door.

He didn’t bother giving the Leoian the courtesy of a knock, instead forcing his way inside, giving pause only when he saw Meouch with a cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth and Sung’s synth in his lap once more.

Havve hadn’t known whatever melody Meouch had been playing in the pilot’s chair a few days back, only that there had been years worth of talent and practice that stemmed from his fingers onto the keys as it swelled around them. Sung was the same way, but his fingers were lighter, his intent more joyous and playful as he let them lead the way.

He had heard something aching in Meouch’s music. A question left unanswered, embers dying out.

“Hogan.” Meouch finally spoke. It was his usual means of indifferent greeting just like the day before, as if the fact that he was sitting in the middle of his floor with almost nothing but a too small mattress, a blanket, and a pile of clothes to define his room wasn’t worth mentioning at all.

He sighed to himself and angled his body into the doorway, letting his optics paint Meouch in a guilty red. Neither of them moved for another minute, two. Seventeen minutes had now passed and Havve was going out of his mind.

It had been this way with Bombus, at least, somewhat. But time and patience (all Sung’s, not his) had finally urged the other to open up, to trust again, and grow. Havve had watched the two from afar, not entirely too sure how he fit into their blossoming dynamic. Bombus hadn’t feared him like Phobos had, either. Hadn’t even hated him. They had simply ignored each other, stayed in their own orbit, and that had been that.

There was something about Meouch though, something that piqued Havve’s interest in a way Bombus never had. The lingering haunted look in his eyes, the way his claws found his skin, the walls of their ship and other things all too easily, eager to tear into them. Dangerous, one side of him warned, the more robotic side.

In need of help, the other side, the more human side, hummed.

When it came down to it though, if he tried to hurt Phobos, hurt Sung, there’d be no stopping Havve.

Twenty minutes now. The end of Meouch’s cigarette was nothing but ash. Havve finally tipped his head towards the hallway, the hatch, to where Mojave and Sung’s well intentioned, albeit last minute, vacation awaited. Meouch’s brow furrowed just so before he turned his attention to the synth board, his jaw working silently before he opened his mouth to speak.

“I think I’m gonna stay behind, watch the ship.”

Bullshit, he said inside his head, only heard by him.

He pushed off the door and dug into the pouch that held his notepad and paper. ‘Don’t start.’ Havve wrote. ‘We both know you don’t like being left alone.’ It was a low blow, but he wasn’t about to just let Sung or Phobos stay out there by themselves just so he could babysit the other. 

Meouch bared his fangs in silent warning. ‘What are you so afraid of?’ Havve followed up, holding it right in his face. ‘What’s out there?’

“Nothing. There’s nothing out there.” That was a lie and the savage side of him was beginning to feel more and more justified at the fact. “Why does it matter, anyways, if I choose to stay on the ship, huh? Why do you care so much?”

His optics ran darker and his hand moved before he could think any better of it. ‘Because I don’t trust you.’ Havve’s pen broke the paper on the period, nearly tearing it in half.

There.

Finally. 

It was out.

Meouch paws came down on the keys, issuing a loud, discordant sound that didn’t phase Havve in the slightest but got him to wince in response. Havve tore the paper up, the pieces not even halfway to the ground as his next sentence formed. ‘You have a history, an instability. You are trouble waiting to happen.’ 

Meouch shoved the synth to the side and got up into his face with a growl. They were nearly the same height but Havve still had a few inches on him, a stupidly pleasing fact to him. “Like you’re one to talk, asshole.” Meouch spat. “There’s a reason Phobos was scared shitless of you.”

Was. Past tense. It isn’t like that anymore, Havve wanted to scream. He could touch Phobos, and Phobos him. They could look at each other. Joke with each other too. You’d know that if you came out more, Meouch, he silently seethed at the other. Automatically his fingers found the front of Meouch’s vest, bunching the fabric up in his hands as his frustration grew. He could kill him just like this. It’d be so easy, especially without Sung to patch him up again... 

He realized in that moment there was nothing but yawning wide static in his head and the sound of his 808 beating out of control.

Havve shoved Meouch away, falling back a step as he did, covering his faceplate in growing horror. His fingers scrambled at it’s sides, seeking out the screws that held his jaw. Sung had replaced them after Lumachroma along with several other parts of Havve, a necessity after all the damage both he and the Anatta had done, so they refused to give as he tugged at them, trying to appease his nervous tic. “Gods.” Meouch growled, sounding simultaneously close and distant to him. “Don’t.”

When he felt the other boy’s hands on him he grabbed Meouch’s wrists, lightning quick, letting his fingers slide up to scars that decorated them. “Don’t.” Meouch repeated, voice lower, a pitched plea of sorts. 

The static lessened but he didn’t dare let go. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of letting this static, this emptiness, this  _ lack _ of his spilling over into Sung, so Havve kept his walls up whenever it crowded in and kept it to himself. Funny that the person he trusted least on this damn ship was all that he could trust in that moment.  _ If I can’t _ , he traced out under Meouch’s fur, coming back to himself oh so slowly.  _ You can’t. _

It was only fair, after all. 

Meouch shoved him away this time, lips peeling back, hackles raising. At least it was gone now. His head was pleasantly quiet, the link still undisturbed. “You never finished.” He managed in a cold voice, surprising Havve. 

What else was there to say? Havve grabbed his notebook, forcing his processors to steady his hand as he began to write again. ‘What do you want me to say?’ 

“Another test, Hogan?” Meouch gave him a bruised smirk. “So soon?”

‘A simple question, more like.’

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Nothing’s simple.”

If he could have, he would have laughed at that. 

Instead Havve wrote, ‘nothing ever is.’ 

Meouch’s smirk turned sardonic, eyes taking on a dead humor at the fact. “Then answer my question, since you don’t have anything else to say. If you really don’t trust me, then why am I still here?”

Havve bowed his head and let it linger like that over the paper. Twenty five minutes had passed. Nearly a half hour of waiting and words. ‘Because Sung wouldn’t be happy if I did.’ He admitted. ‘And that’s all that matters in the end.’

Sung, happy. Sung, smiling. Sung, safe and sound. 

That’s all Havve needed to feel complete. Whatever was inside of him demanded it. Everything else that could be considered ‘good’ in his life was secondary. Like Phobos and their newfound friendship, or the satisfaction that came from drawing something beautiful all on his own, or playing the drums. Things like that were an added bonus to him. ‘A question for you then, since it’s only fair.’ He flipped the page and angled the notebook at Meouch, letting it speak for itself. 

‘Why are  _ you _ still here?”

He wasn’t sure what his intent was in asking that. Maybe a part of it had been to dig in under the skin, to make a point. But there was a legitimate question in that phrasing too, a need to know. Meouch’s ears flattened in response and Havve was sure he had pushed too fast, too hard, and that it’d be like the music he made. 

He moved to the door, straight spined, stiff necked. “That’s the funny thing, Hogan.” He started, not looking back, surprising Havve for the second time that day. “...I don’t really know.” 

-

This had to be a dream. 

How else was he drifting along some man made waterway in a too narrow boat, sitting across from Sung as a robot paddled them along, droning off a classic ballad in Italian? He had the taste of lemon on his lips and the satisfaction of a full stomach under a perfect sun. Sung was still working on his own strawberry gelato, his pylon sifting between his legs, freckled face turned up towards the sky. “Switch?” He sighed out, glancing over at him from under fanned lashes.

_ “Already finished mine.” _ Phobos signed back lazily, sinking further back into his half of the boat. 

Sung’s mouth fell open but he made no effort move. “How’d you do that so fast with your helmet?”

Phobos snickered and signed “ _ magic _ ” at him, emphasizing the fact with jazz hands. 

Sung let his head fall back with a “I’ll say.” murmured under his breath in response. His lashes fluttered as he mimicked Phobos’s posing, a tired smile gracing his lips. “I could fall asleep like this for an hour or two.”

“That will be another hundred credits,  _ signore _ .” The robot informed him, causing Sung to stick his tongue out and Phobos to laugh. “Can’t remember the last time I napped.”

_ “Working too hard.” _ Phobos informed him, waggling his finger for good measure. 

“More like hardly working.” Sung groaned. “There’s so much to do, I just-“ Phobos sat up, his worry immediate as the empath went to cover his face. “Fuck, I don’t know, Phobos. I feel like I’m losing my mind over here.”

He swallowed against the growing lump in his throat, throwing one quick look at their robot gondolier to see if he was watching them. No. He was blissfully sailing on. He reached his hand out to touch Sung’s knee, to squeeze it, grab his attention, get him to open up about whatever was bothering him-

Only to snatch it back as something fell from the sky and crashed straight into their boat. 

It rocked dangerously, tipping perilously from side to side as the poor robot tried to right it once more. “ _ Signore _ , please.” It implored as Sung shot up, causing it to shake even more. “I must ask that you sit!”

But Sung lunged forward, unhearing and unheeding of the warning even as it was issued again, louder this time. Phobos gasped inside his helmet, gripping onto the boat’s sides. Sung, he ought to shout, don’t! Stop!

But he could only watch wordlessly as Sung flipped the body over, his face pale, his brow drawn and eye not leaving the shape even as the gondola listed to the side and flipped all of them overboard. 

Phobos surfaced immediately with a gasp, pawing at the water frantically to keep afloat, head whipping back and forth until Sung floated up with whoever, or whatever, that had come from the heavens above in his arms. 

It spewed up a mouthful of waterway liquid and glanced around until they found the empath. Phobos saw a flash of gap teeth before he did, four eyes, a set of horns…

“Sung.” The thing, a boy, lisped in shock. 

His face became paler under his sopping locks somehow, as if he had seen a ghost. “Bombus.” Sung whispered back in disbelief.

The turning of Fortuna's wheel, it seemed, had begun.


	3. All the Words I Wish I Could Take Back

He sighed softly, and with great care, as if the world were listening for the first sign of weakness he showed the moment he stepped off the ship.

Mojave was just the same, but brand new, he noted. No matter how the buildings changed and grew, how fast the faces blurred on the strip and streets, there would always be that wild, wheeling laughter, the smell of sugar sweet smoke and tang of sweat on the air.

There were places here that shouldn’t exist here, places Meouch would rather forget, and people too.

Gods, he could use a smoke right about now.

Next to him, stiller than Death itself, his own too silent sentinel, was Havve. He seemed to gobble up all the surrounding light and sound without even trying to, ever the black hole. Meouch wasn’t the only one that seemed to notice it. Other people were staring too, giving them a wide berth as their eyes flicked to each and every savage point on Havve’s bulky frame before finding their way to him. Meouch couldn’t blame them, as much as he hated it. They _did_ make for an odd pair.

Forget the cigarettes, gods. He could really, _really_ use a stiff drink right now.

He cut Havve a glance of his own, studying him closely. How had he gone from that frantic, twitching thing inside his room to the bored looking bastard now standing at his side? How how _how?_ His fingers had been so cold. Thin and shaking as they parted his fur to trace upon his skin. _If I can’t, you can’t._ He had said.

Something deep within Meouch had cracked open at that.

Maybe it was the fact that no one had ever touched his scars before, or maybe it was the way the words seemed to be both a threat and a plea. Whatever it was, he had been quick to dam it back up, keep anything from spilling out or forcing its way in.

Lumachroma. Something had to have happened there. Something strange and irrevocable, just like him and Sung on Metalion. It wasn’t his place to ask. Wasn’t even his place to even care about these people, but he had seen the way Phobos had changed after it, and now Havve too. Better in some ways, worse in others...

It was nice, he realized, in an awful, selfish way. To see that he wasn’t the only one caught up in some kind of fucked up spiral, constantly falling back in on himself.

Meouch licked his lips and sighed again, louder this time, trying to make a point. “So.” He rumbled, unable to ignore the fact that he was already sweating. Yet another reason he hated this damn planet.

Havve angled his head sharply towards him, annoyingly unruffled under the midday sun. ‘I don’t want to interrupt Sung and Phobos.’ He scribbled out, optics dimming considerably. ‘They’re out having fun.’

He underlined it once, twice, as if Meouch didn’t know the word. And gods, maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he had just forgot. When was the last time he had had fun? The punch Sung had thrown at him was the the closest Meouch should-would-could consider... but that had been more of an accidental thrill. Same with Baltaschchit. The chase on Metalion, the flickering flame of his lighter as Sung stood his ground against the seemingly unstoppable force. No. None of that had been real fun, and before that-

_The roar of hell fire, the choking press of smoke. And Funk. Funk in the air, on his tongue, coursing through his veins as he ripped Phobos’s wings from his back with an easy laugh, without a second thought-_

Meouch wasn’t the least bit surprised when he came back to himself and tasted vomit in the back of his mouth.

Havve was still studying him, his pen still poised under the word fun, as if tempted to underline it once more, painfully oblivious. “What’s the plan, then?” He finally managed, wishing he could look away. But Havve was penning out his response, sweet and slow.  
‘You know Mojave better than I do. I thought I’d let you decide.’

Bastard. Absolute fucking _bastard_.

Havve would be grinning if he could, Meouch just knew it. Too pleased with the fact that he had gotten him outside only to shove him into a corner where he couldn’t escape. He felt his claws snap out in response, and for a very tempting moment it was too easy to picture himself tearing Havve apart limb by limb, panel by panel, wire by wire, until he found that incessant drumming heart and ripped it out.

_I don’t trust you._

_You are trouble._

_Why are you still_ here _?_

Something shuddered through him, and Meouch wasn’t sure if it was wanting or disgust.

He swallowed the rest of the sick down and forced himself to smile, for both his sake and Havve’s. “Well then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

-

He had to be dreaming.

Bombus, here, looking almost exactly as he had but different somehow. His hair was longer, his eyes alight…

What the actual fuck.

“Long time no see.” The Sileni smiled and it was painfully bright despite literally everything. “What’re you doing here-?”

A rage the likes of which Sung hadn’t experienced since finding Meouch and Phobos slammed into him from out of nowhere, nearly taking his breath away. He whipped his head around, grip slipping on Bombus as he tried to find the source. Not Phobos, who was only lost and confused as he treaded water nearby, and not the gondolier (though he had a feeling he’d have to shell out a few more credits for all the chaos he had caused.)

Nothing below, but above… a shadow-

Wings.

Talons.

_Avis._

Fuck.

She was rage and fury unbound. Her hair a pitch black streamer behind her as she plunged towards them, dagger at the ready as she loosed a warrior’s call. Someone gasped, and without thinking Sung plunged himself and Bombus under water just in time, screaming at Phobos to do the same.

This wasn’t a dream, he realized as her talons just missed them, catching the water instead. It was a gods damned nightmare.

They came back up only for Bombus to wrestle himself out of his arms, frantically splashing about. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” The other boy managed with a panicked lisp, barely keeping himself afloat. “I can explain.”

“Explain what?!” No. No time for questions. He saw his pylon bobbing innocently along the surface and flailed his arms out, trying to grab it as he kept his eye on both Bombus, Phobos, _and_ their deadly assailant. “Fuck it! We have to go!”

The Avis girl gave a croaking laugh as she circled closer above head, her dagger flashing at her side. “You may go, but the Sileni stays. He’s _mine_.” She hissed as her wings blotted out the sun.

Gods. _Gods_. Just what had Bombus done to incur the wrath of a watcher, anyways?

She dove once more and he was on Metalion again instantly, Baltaschchit bearing down on him in that endless metal jungle, his terror a tangible thing. She was going for Phobos, sweet Phobos, with those brutal onyx talons of hers. He gave a choked gasp, an almost scream of warning, but then the Lepid reared back quick as lightning-

And hit her square in the face with the gondoliers oar.

“Phobos.” He whispered as she hit the water with a tremendous splash. Bombus didn’t exist in that moment, and neither did the robot, or even the damn Avis girl. It was just them and the swelling sense of pride and joy coming off the other boy, the pleased curve of his mouth. He could see across the distance between them, through the gaps in his helmet as he smiled right at Sung. “Phobos.” He said again with a disbelieving laugh, his core going bright.

“Sung.” Bombus yelped, reminding him of what was really going on.

She could have killed them. Nearly managed it, too. But when he saw her floating face down in the water Sung felt his very insides twist with guilt. “Gods damn it.” He swore under his breath as he paddled over to her, ignoring Bombus’s surprised squawk. She was strangely heavy, and Sung couldn’t help but grimace at blossoming bruise that had begun spread across her pale face. “Charge me as much as you want.” He told the robot as he hefted her unconscious form into the boat. “Damages, extra time, literally whatever. Just take her and go.”

“Signore...”

“Please.”

“You can’t be serious!” Bombus gasped. “She attacked us.”

He clenched his jaw and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “No, she attacked _you_.” There is no us, he wanted to scream at the other, ever since you decided to leave. But that could wait until later, until they were somewhere safer than here. Preferably not in front of Phobos either, who was now watching them quietly, his interest piqued. “Please.” He asked the robot again, desperation leaking into his tone.

The gondolier sighed and looked skyward before glancing back at Sung. “They don’t pay me enough for this. But yeah, bud, you got yourself a deal.” He told him, dropping the accent as he did. “I’m gonna need my oar back though.”

Blessed be Fortuna _and_ the Fates. He hit the side of the boat after returning it with a stupid happy grin before swimming over to the nearest wall. “Let’s bounce.” He told the other two. “The more distance we put between her and us, the better.” Phobos nodded eagerly, but Bombus… Bombus just stared at him with all four of his eyes, unmoving except for the tread of his arms and feet. “Unless.” Sung forced out. “You have other places to be.”

He wasn’t sure what hit him first, Phobos’s confusion or Bombus’s surprise. Either way Sung could feel his control slipping, far too fast. “Your choice.” Sung spat. He wanted answers, but he wasn’t going to go begging for them either.

Forget that.

Phobos moved first, casting a wary glance back at Bombus before making his way to Sung. _“Are you okay?”_ He signed with wet fingers, prompting Sung to shake his head. Again, it would have to be later. Later, when he was out of his wet clothes, when he finally had his head on straight…

Worry bloomed across Sung’s senses, but Phobos thankfully let it drop as he hauled himself upwards. Sung didn’t miss the way he stared at Bombus though, his head cocked to the side, as if trying to put two and two together.

Sung pulled his pylon on and blocked it out.

He closed his eye when he did, refusing to watch the decision Bombus made, or how he came to it. He counted the seconds though, and nearly a whole minute passed before a splash sounded and Bombus joined them on the concrete.

He didn’t know whether he should be thrilled or upset.

“Do you have somewhere safe we can go?” Again, that impossible ‘we’ had wormed its way into the conversation. Sung could barely stand it. It was a good thing Havve wasn’t here because he could only imagine how that would go. Bombus nodded this time, quick and short.

“Yeah, I’ve got a hotel room nearby.” At least there was that. No more street corners and alleyways for Bombus, it seemed. “My friends-”

He didn’t hear the rest.

His core flickered, guttered, went dark and dim.

_Friends._

It took Sung’s everything to keep his walls up. To keep Havve from knowing what the fuck was going on and racing his way through Mojave to find him, them. But that just gave the word more room to bounce around in his skull, unavoidable. Friends, friends, friends.

Something, someone, touched his hand.

Phobos.

 _“Do you want to go?”_ He signed at him, apparently not caring that he was basically interrupting Bombus. Yes, he wanted to tell Phobos. Yes. Gods, yes. He wanted to go back to before, when it was just them and the sun shining above head, to when things had been momentarily simpler and inexplicably good. _“Tell me and I’ll make it happen.”_

Sung forced himself to look at Bombus, to take in how oblivious he was, as if he alone could perform actions in this universe without consequence. “No.” He rasped back at Phobos before leveling Bombus with a heavy stare of his own, his hurt masked by the dark curve of his visor, his only defense. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

-

_“You went to Mojave?”_

_“Yeah, me’n’Havve a whiles back. We uh… met a friend there once.”_

Phobos wasn’t stupid.

Bombus was obviously Sung’s ‘friend.’

He decided to be subjective as he studied the other boy, trying to get an unbiased sense of him. He was a spindly thing with a mop of curly hair upon his head and four strange, dark eyes. A Sileni, he noted, as he peeked at the small tail jutting out the back of his pants and the curved ears that fell to his jaw. He probably had horns too. Gods blessed, some said, direct descendants of the satyr guide Silenus himself. It was rumored they could catch glimpses of the future when inebriated, but that was all too easy to write off.

A Sileni tracked by an Avis, marked for death.

Gods, he thought _his_ life was messy.

He stuck close to Sung, worry gnawing him apart. He could see the stiffness in Sung’s shoulders as they made their way to wherever Bombus was leading them, the way his core shone too bright in his chest. He wondered if Sung knew his offer still stood. That he could simply voice his uncomfort and that alone would be enough. This boy was not their problem nor their responsibility. Sung’s supposed ties to him didn’t matter when the empath looked at him with only lacking and hurt.

But he did no such thing, because Sung was Sung.

And because he was Sung, Phobos let his fingers brush up against the older boy’s fingers in a silent solidarity of sorts as they made their way further into the heart of Mojave. _I’m here_ , he wanted the gesture to tell him. _I’m not going to leave you here alone._

Those gloved fingers gripped back both suddenly and desperately, surprising him, seeming to say _don’t let me go._

This wasn’t the time or place to be pleased by such a thing.

But, Phobos realized with a small smile, he was.

At least they were seeing more of Mojave like this, even if it was rushed. They’d come back later hopefully. Once things had settled down. For Deimos’s sake, Phobos told himself, if anything, because he would have dove into it fully and waited until the last minute to come back up. Bombus finally slowed as they rounded a corner, causing Sung to stop and Phobos to pause. “This is where you’re staying?” Sung blurted, prompting Phobos to look up.

And up and up and _up_.

Sung pressed up into Phobos, who could only stare at the architectural feat in silence, going up on his tiptoes as he kept his voice low. “This is actually the place I was telling you about earlier.” Sung had wanted to take him here? Dear gods, it was so tall! Nearly piercing the heavens itself. His stomach flipped and he gulped nervously, ignoring the way it made his lungs ache. “I could have sworn it was Stratosphere last time though...” He mused to himself, still staying close.

“You’re not wrong.” Bombus leaned his way into their conversation, a gesture that was not appreciated given the way Sung balked and frowned. “Some Earthen’s got pissed they all but lifted the name from the place Mojave’s based off of, so they’ve been working on scrubbing it over the past few months. So, it’s just Stratos now, because we can’t have nice things.”

Bombus rolled his all four of his eyes as if to say _humans, right?_ But Sung’s mouth was still a set line, and Phobos was suddenly grateful for his self imposed vow. He didn’t have to speak to Bombus because of it, explain himself, or even try to play nice. He could simply stare at him through the dark of the visor Sung had made for him until he got the hint and shut up.

He fell back a step and gave a nervous laugh, his eyes darting to the concrete. Good, Phobos thought bitterly, starting to hate him more and more. You had to be a special kind of person to make Sung not like you, and the way Sung’s core had went dark in his chest earlier, dangerously so...

Phobos didn’t care if he was supposedly blessed by the gods. He’d hurt him if he hurt Sung.

They stepped into the lobby and Phobos immediately grimaced behind his mouthpiece as his still wet boots squelched on the black marble floor. Everything was so _nice_ in here, from the glass check in area to the shifting starred ceiling above head. He heard Sung give a soft gasp and turned to see him reach up with his free hand, as if he could really touch one and grab it to keep all to himself.

Bombus wasn’t nearly as impressed as them, already making a beeline for the opening elevator door. “I hope you don’t mind heights.” He had apparently figured out that Sung wasn’t feeling talkative and was opting for Phobos instead. He felt his brow pinch behind his visor before he bit his tongue, keeping his hands to himself. “Star’s partial to ‘em.”

He didn’t miss the way Sung’s core dimmed in his chest at the name, or the way he looked away as the elevator shot up five floors, ten, twenty… Up and up they went, Phobos’s chest going tight with it. You can breathe, damn it. You’re fine. He told himself.

The flying floors seemed to think otherwise.

Seventy, eighty, _gods_.

They were heading right towards the penthouse on the 100th floor.

Sung’s head whipped towards Bombus as the elevator began to slow. “Looks like you’re doing well for yourself.” He ground out tersely. The other boy hesitated, then steeled himself, taking a small step closer. They were in close enough quarters as is.

“What’s your problem, man?”

“My problem?” Sung laughed. It wasn’t like any laugh Phobos had heard him make before. It was dark and angry like an oncoming storm. He shuddered at it, unable to help himself. “That’s rich. Ha-ha.”

He had never thought the empath capable of anger, that was Havve's element, but it was like he had been born to it in that moment. His lips pulled back from his teeth in an ugly sneer, his canines flashing as his core burned too bright. It felt like they were hurtling towards something that couldn’t be changed back, and Phobos realized in that moment that he was the only one that could stop it.

He touched Sung’s shoulder and drew him back. “ _Please._ ” He signed carefully. Please, what? He didn’t know. Please reconsider. Please don’t. Please _stop._

Please look at me.

And with a sigh, he did.

He'd never forget the way Sung looked at him after he had hit that Avis hunter, with amazement and disbelief and the smallest shred of relief. The only word Phobos could use to describe how he felt in that moment was exhilarated. 

A momentary liberation, the sweetest relief.

Like flying without wings.

“I-” Sung started softly, only to trail off as the doors pushed themselves apart with their own pleasant sigh.

The penthouse had been trashed, and given Bombus’s astounded expression, he hadn’t left it that way whenever he had been here last. The Sileni stumbled forward and he and Sung moved in tandem to wrangle him back in, both of them reaching the same conclusion, assumption, whatever the hell it was called.

Whoever it was could still be here, waiting for them to make a move.

Phobos studied the scene over Bombus’s shoulder, taking it all in. Broken glass, upturned furniture, splintered wood and general chaos. A shame, really. And probably a heavy price to pay as well. 

And that's when he saw it. A single, speckled feather. Lighter than their earlier friend’s, but belonging to an Avis all the same.

A warning, he supposed. Or perhaps a calling card of sorts.

Phobos pointed it out silently, his heart pounding as both Sung and Bombus followed it to the source.

“Start talking.” Sung demanded hoarsely when he finally saw it.

And with a sigh, he did.

-

 

Mojave wasn’t made for _things_ like him.

That’s what those stares had caused him to feel earlier when he stepped off the ship with Meouch, his earlier worries still winding through him despite his best efforts.

Lesser, other...

Monster.

 _Thing_. 

The glimmering lights, the shimmering advertisements. They failed to draw him in the way they ought to. The batted eyelashes too, and the baring of skin promised to those who were looking for a good time (with the right amount of credits, of course.) None of that mattered.

Not even to Meouch, surprisingly.

 _There_ _was_ a _reason_ _Phobos_ _was_ _scared_ _shitless_ _of_ you.

Was. Havve reminded himself.  _Was_.

They were staying on the main path, where all the tourists liked to hang out and explore, but with every step Meouch tensed further, kept casting his eyes about as if he were cornered quarry on an open field.

_What’s out there, what are you so afraid of?_

Havve felt like he was going to find the answer sooner rather than later.

And that’s why he kept Sung blocked out as they cut through the crowd, not only because of his own crowding thoughts, but because the empath didn’t need to see _this_. He’d handle it, clean it up, sweep it under the rug if it came to it and never speak of it again. He’d do that for Sung.

That and more.

Havve tapped Meouch’s shoulder, snorting to himself when the Leoian nearly jumped out of his fur and skin. _‘Are you hungry? We can stop if you want.’_ He could play nice. For Sung’s sake, at least, and his continued quest for friendship. Meouch eyed the words on the page before looking at him, nostrils flaring slightly.

“You just gonna sit there while I do?”

He sighed to himself. _‘I don’t have much of a choice, do I?’_

“...Right.” Meouch said slowly, brow slanting with the fact.

He looked at Mojave again and poised his pen over the paper. Things like him shouldn’t see the beauty in the way the buildings rose and fell, or how the sun reflected off the mirrored glass, but he could see himself drawing the same exact shapes in his notebook, reimagining them in black and white…

And just like that, he was crashing into someone else.

It wasn’t drastic by any means. They bounced off each other, two equally solid forces meeting in the middle only to push apart. “Oh, I’m sorry.” A ringing voice said to him, except it wasn’t out loud.

It was in his head.

Havve jerked violently at the sudden intrusion. No, intrusion wasn’t the right word. It was more akin to a lighting upon his thoughts, careful and self aware. He cocked his head to the side, trying to make sense of what creature existed beneath the dark and heavy cloak.

Golmi, his systems figured for him. Rough, uncut, still encased in unremarkable rockface, but Golmi all the same.

‘ _You’re fine.’_ Havve informed him, barely upset at all. In fact, he was intrigued. Golmi like him weren’t common. They wore their colors with pride, even if they were in the lower castes and couldn’t afford to be polished. To see one without a hint of whatever gemstone lay underneath out in public... Well, that was a rare sight indeed. _‘It was probably my fault, anyways.’_

The Golmi shifted his head to the side, seemed to radiate warmth without eyes or a mouth to convey the fact. No, Havve realized with growing amazement, he was pressing the idea of it into his head. Too bad Sung wasn’t here. He would have absolutely loved this.

Havve could feel the other smile, a slow and pleased thing inside of him. “Mojave has a way of doing that to even the best of us.” He said.

“Stone!” This voice, thankfully, wasn’t inside his head. It rung out from a distance, causing them all to turn. He too was covered from head to toe in black, features hidden beneath a large hood. Havve took an easy step back, inclining his head towards the other male as he did the same. That should have been it. An accidental meeting, a once in a lifetime chance…

But the gods, it seemed, had other plans.

Havve saw Meouch’s nostrils flare again, this time with purpose. Scenting, he was scenting the approaching stranger, trying to make sense of him. _Don’t know him,_ Havve prayed to the gods despite not believing in them. _Please don’t._

Because as much as he wanted an excuse to throw Meouch off the ship and leave him in the dust, he didn’t want it _now_. It was too public here, where too many eyes could see the fallout and people could be hurt if it went too far south.

“Avis.” Havve heard Meouch breathe out softly, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Neither could Havve.

A watcher in their very midsts. Sung wasn’t going to let him hear the end of it if he found out. Maybe he _should_ have let them wait with him after all. He laughed to himself, only to give pause when he felt Stone slip out of his head, his worry catching on the edges there…

“You can’t just run off without  me.” The Avis hissed as he neared, throwing both him and Meouch a dark glance. “We’re supposed to stay together until we find Bombus!” He threw them a wide eyed glance, realizing his apparent mistake. “I mean-”

But Havve didn’t care, because he had heard that name despite the other’s best efforts.

Bombus.

Bombus.

_Bombus._

“Hogan!” Meouch barked. “Put the damn knife down!”

When had he dropped his pen and paper? When had he dug his knife out? Had static flooded through him, or something else? Stone hadn’t moved but the Avis was narrow eyed, teeth bared in warning.

He grabbed pen and stabbed it into the paper, over and over again, until it formed the message he wished to convey. ‘ _How do you know Bombus?’_ Havve demanded, not caring how sloppy his lettering was, or if it was even legible.

“Don’t answer that.” The Avis boy commanded, only for Stone to speak over him.

“He’s our friend.”

Meouch was privy to the conversation now too, it seemed. Havve heard him give a surprised grunt before he folded his arms over his chest, looking terribly uncomfortable with the fact. Friends. Bombus had gone and made new friends and hadn’t even thought to send Sung some kind of message of his well being, any indication that he was even alive.

Bombus was a dead man.

“Stone, I swear-” The Golmi held up his hand, silencing his Avis friend before he could even begin.

“Your friend would already be here if she was in league with them, Star.” Stone hummed to all three of them, seemingly unbothered. “There are more important things at hand. Let me ask you the same question. How do _you_ know Bombustron?”

Havve forced his processors into overdrive, trying to calm his shaking hands. ‘ _We met here, a year ago._ ’ He informed the both of them, taking no pleasure in their joint surprise. ‘ _Took him in, fed and clothed him, and then he left without warning._ ’ The note, a more logical part of him tried to insist. He had left a note…

But Havve hadn’t dared open it, not when Sung could barely look at it without nearly breaking apart.

‘ _That’s’_ Havve underlined it once, twice, just as he had with the Leoian almost half an hour ago, trying to emphasize the fact. ‘ _how I know that son of a bitch._ ’

“Gods.” Meouch said under his breath. More than likely putting two and two together, Havve assumed. The desperation to make them all work somehow, the way Sung refused to give up. It shouldn’t have been his story to tell, but Stone had asked, after all.

Dead man, he was a dead man… 

“So what? You have some issues with him. That’s not our problem.” The Avis boy spat. “You go on your way and we’ll go on ours.”

“I’d prefer that.” Meouch jumped into the conversation, sounding a bit too eager for Havve’s tastes.

“I assure you, it was simply a misunderstanding…” Stone tried to say in his best placating tone, but Havve didn’t care.

He was _dead_.

“Star Trotter.”

A third voice joined them. One that had the Avis named Star Trotter jerking his head skywards, his hood falling back...

A young girl smiled back at them from the sky, her eyes like garnets, her skin dark brown.

“Kestrel.” He heard the other male choke out.

“Found you.” She told him sweetly with a flap of her speckled wings, smile stretching as she pulled out her dagger and _dove_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man those PARALLELS THO


	4. Should Have Bet on Black

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey natalie, it's been uh... like... six plus months you say  
> and natalie, there's a new title? you say  
> and i say  
> i do what i want how i want and i moved and life happened and im back you motherfuckers.  
> it was better this way anyways  
> (also uh electric six fucks thanks)  
> (also heads up for the use of the f slur in this chapter if it makes you uncomfortable it's in meouch's first POV)

It had started forever ago, in a span that couldn’t be bound by words like eras and epochs; before there was meaning, before there was time. When all there had been was an unceasing ‘nothing’ that the Fates had simply ordered to _wait._  

Strangely enough, it did not tear itself asunder when it’s moment finally came. It did not scream itself awake. Rather, it simply stretched itself out to its fullest potential, sighing softly, gently almost; unspooling itself everywhere as if emerging from a long and pleasant sleep.

And in that endless yawning, that unexpected gape, the Fates smiled into the unknown of it all and started their endless weave. 

It was believed to be a time and place where no god dare to tread, where only songs could define it. Wind song, they said, heart song. Dark song and light. It demanded witness and watching. To be seen and heard and made into life. 

Maybe there had been other things before them that had watched as well, buried deep or crawling around, but the Avis were said to be the first to show. To name the universe, shape it, make it known. Once, even still to some, they were anointed true gods. Deities of an infant existence- standing vigil over its cosmogenesis. But they only took to be beholders of it, wingeded and ancient, impartial most of all. 

No rulers, no gods. Only the Universe’s infinite melody. That was their mantra, and from their lofty perches they bore witness to the world and what was to come for years and years to come.

Sung had read those very words in a book. An actual, physical book, so long ago. He could still recall the weight of it in his arms, brimming with so many pages and possibilities that his muscles had ached with it for days to come. He had been twelve, maybe thirteen then, far too young to be clawing his way through the far reaches of space without any kind of supervision (because nobody was going to count Havve back then, and nobody should have either, really.) 

Looking back on it, he was always surprised that Sanctuary had let them stay in the first place. Even _if_ it was a planet for displaced souls. Even _if_ Sung was a child. Even _if_ the ship was their own. Havve had been no more than exposed wire and rust and blood, and Sung had been clinging to his back as they stepped onto the planet, trying to smile against the onslaught of confusion-wariness-distrust-fear that began to slam against his core they made sense of the scene before them.

But they had, and he eventually had found his way to their sprawling library after stuffing himself to near bursting with food and painting his skin bright pink under the scalding showerhead, Havve offline and charging in some distant room far away from him. And it was there with that too big book, with his finger pressed to the paper to guide him, that Sung started to read about the universe he had apparently forgotten while he had slept on in that icy cavern, and of what it held.

So when Bombus told them that he was housing a runaway Avis along with a Golmi friend he had made along the way, Sung had to react someway, somehow. He pulled back from the other boy, went still, snorted and choked on a laughing sound. “Okay.” He managed after it was all said and done, covering his mouth still, his smile of incredulity. “You got me. Good one.”

Avis didn’t do that. _Couldn’t_. There were universal constants, after all. Things that the Fates demanded so as to keep some semblance of order and sanity. The Avis didn’t turn their back on their flock. Didn’t stray from their Universal duties. Easy-peasy. Their purpose was simply to keep watch, take record down… not involve themselves in the tumble-turn of history.

And yet...

There was the fact that that Avis girl had come flying at them with a blade so sharp it could cut the air apart. The fact that another had torn this very hotel room to shreds trying to find something, someone. 

And the fact that he had his pylon off and placed beside him, making it impossible to deny the other’s fear and absolute sincerity.

Sung slid his gaze to Phobos, who had found the closest thing to a seat to perch himself upon, his expression unreadable given the helmet covering his head. But Sung knew. Knew he was just as incredulous as he was, trying to thread the needle of what they all knew to be the truth versus what the Sileni alien had just told them.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, his everything screamed. Absolute bull-fucking-shit, indeed.

“You know I’m not lying, Sung.” Bombus hissed in challenge, all four of his eyes tightening like he was expecting Sung to fight him on it. There must have been something on his face to prompt such a response. “Don’t fucking start.”

Was this where they were now after everything? At each other’s throats? After every long night and spur of the moment jam session they had crammed into that janky star ship? After nearly a year of getting to know one another, becoming closer, trust unfurling between them slowly but surely with each passing day…

It hurt, more than Sung ever thought it could, more than it had any right to if he was being completely honest with himself.

“There’s a _difference_ between knowing you’re not lying and wanting you to.” Sung finally forced himself to admit. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling in a steadying breath, eye flicking around the ruined room again. He wondered how they were going to pay for this, if they even would. The Bombus he _used_ to know wouldn’t have, but he didn’t know who Bombus was anymore. “This goes against everything anyone’s ever known.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t know the half of it.” Is this what he had been doing? Had he had some vision of what was to come, his rumored Sileni powers somehow awakened? The letter, something in Sung nagged, you never read that damn letter he left you…

The empath covered his mouth again, except this time he was choking nausea back instead of outright laughter. Gods. Just an hour ago, this had been a regular day. The very thing they deserved after the hell Sung had accidentally put all four of them through. 

Frying pan to fire, it was inevitable, it seemed. His own personal universal constant.

“So, tell us. If there’s more to it, then-” And Bombus was laughing before he could finish, hard and ugly and awful in the wreckage that remained, and Sung heard his teeth click together more than he felt it, standing abruptly as he flushed a deep, ruddy red. “Okay. Alright. You know what? Fuck off.” He swore unapologetically as embarrassment speared through him, spitting the words out.

Phobos was standing too, striding towards Sung with little bursts of frustration coming off of him like miniature fireworks. _“Forget it.”_ Phobos signed, fingers violent in a way his voice couldn’t afford. _“He’s a piece of shit. You don’t need this.”_

He was right. Sung _didn’t_ need this. Bombus had made his decision when he left so unexpectedly. Unread letter or not, there was still other means of reaching out, explaining himself if he really cared…

Which meant he didn’t, which further meant he wasn’t Sung’s to care about anymore.

And _yet_...

There was a story in the making, a mystery just waiting to be solved, and something in the empath couldn’t quite give that up, no matter how much he wanted to let it, let Bombus, go.

“You could have ran.” Sung said in a low and angry voice as he faced his old friend, ignoring the pinpricks of disbelief from Phobos against his core. You could have ran like _before_ , he nearly added before he caught himself, trying to keep it in the present instead of pulling the past back up and into the foreground. “But you let us come along with you. You brought us up here to your hotel room under the assumption it would be safe, and then you tell half your story and don’t say the rest. That’s bullshit, Bombus. So either spit it out, or we’re done.” 

Do, don’t. Stop, go. Yes, no. Why couldn’t it be simple?

Nothing _ever_ was.

Bombus looked up slowly, his hands folded into his lap, his ears tucking in, becoming so very small like he could coil in on himself and disappear. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He looked downright wretched. Good, Sung thought before catching himself. Gods. When had he become so _awful?_ “You get it.” The Sileni said in a sad voice, surprising him. “The… _cognizance_ that comes with a deeper understanding that not everyone has.” He pointed despondently at Sung’s core, his fingers tracing it’s shape through the air. “That added weight.”

Sung was suddenly very self conscious of the light in his chest for the first time in his life. He shielded it from Bombus’s prying eyes, mouth forming a grimace. “What does that have to do with anything?” He asked, unable to keep the bite out of his voice.

The other wasn’t fazed. “Imagine the weight of knowing everything ever, and then take it further…a step beyond that.” Bombus began, his lisping voice nearly swallowed by the largeness of the room despite it’s emptiness. 

Phobos stepped closer and cocked his chin at Bombus, his own curiosity getting the best of him, very nearly matching Sung’s, desperate for more. The curly haired boy spread his hands out wide, his smile a hollow moon upon his gaunt face. “Imagine if you knew how to change that everything, then imagine if you could make it just so.” 

New gods. True gods. They knew ancient wisdoms and forgotten songs. Sung swallowed thickly as he broke out in goosebumps all over, feeling another wash of nausea-laughter come over him. What Bombus was saying was impossible. This was just one being. One boy.

Of course he wasn’t done. “What would you do in that situation? What would you do, Sung?” He challenged, begging the question they all knew the answer to.

To be born without choice under the false comfort of a divine birthright. To be blessed with a Fated purpose only with no means to deny it. There was no choice when it came to being an Avis, no other spin on life. 

But to know there was more. To know there was something else out there. To know there was promise and chance and possibility…

“I would run.” Sung revealed quietly. Not away, something in him insisted, but towards. Because someone had to, eventually.

Someone had to break the chain.

 

-

Kestrel plunged and they all moved somehow, Havve the fastest out of all of them- impossibly so.

Up until that point, all Meouch had known Havve for was his _stillness_. He could be eerily despondent sometimes, a fixed point of concentrated energy. He wouldn’t so much as blink or move an inch sometimes until Sung came tumbling into the room yapping at him, causing the robot to become all glaring red eyes and creaking-groaning parts.

But he was the complete opposite of still in that moment. He was so much more. Havve Hogan was viciousness in action. Absolute savage poetry. His own pale horse, charging in. 

He had knives. Plural. One to catch Kestrel’s dagger on the upswing and the other to spear her side. And somehow neither found their mark, the Avis flipping in the air to skirt their sharpness before bringing her talons down.

The world narrowed down to the sound of shrieking metal in his ears and Stone clamoring inside his head, both things impossible to ignore. _“We have to go!”_ He was saying over and over again as everyone fled around them, his panic as big as the sky, making it hard to breathe. 

“You don’t think I don’t know that?!” The other Avis was yelling, apparently hearing it as well. His hood had fallen back and Meouch could see him for what he really was. All reds and blacks with dark brown skin, golden eyed, feather lined. A thing of beauty in the middle of an impossible storm. “Gods, Stone, c’mon!” He screamed, angling his body the other way.

This wasn’t their battle. Wasn’t their fight. Wasn’t anything they had the right to claim as their own. At least, that’s what Meouch kept trying to tell himself as he came back to his senses; but the truth of it was very simple, very biting, very real. 

It wasn’t _his_ at all.

It was Sung’s. It was Havve’s. It was Star Trotter’s and Stone’s and Kestrel’s too. And Bombus’s. More curse than a name, more threat than a boy. As Kestrel and Havve faced off, Meouch couldn’t help but wonder how Phobos would feel if he were here. Would he feel off kilter, strange and out of place in a story that wasn’t his own?

 _He left. He left. He_ left _._

_“Why am I still here?”_

_‘Because Sung wouldn’t be happy.’_

Before landing on Metalion, Sung had offered him the chance to go somewhere else. A promise, really. Any whatever, any where. Had it killed Sung to give him that opportunity despite his best smile? Had he secretly been relieved when Meouch had stayed following everything that had happened with Baltaschchit? 

_‘That’s all that matters in the end.’_

Did Havve look at him and see another Bombus in the making?

_‘Trouble waiting to happen.’_

Is that why he hated him?

Kestrel’s dagger became pure light as she raised it for the killing blow, simultaneously screaming wrath and graceful silence. She’d kill him. Or Havve would kill her. One of them would end up dead by the end of it, and they couldn’t have that. So Meouch moved. Not as fast as Havve had, but with a feline grace he had almost forgotten himself capable of. 

There was a biting in his paws, a ripping in his pads, and agony- pure agony. But he pulled Havve back just in time from her final rending, half tumbling to the ground. “Idiot!” He was hemorrhaging sparking wires down his front, optics flickering dimly and off beat. “You’re gonna get yourself-”

Killed. He meant to say, but that’s when Havve _looked_ at him. 

Look wasn’t even the right word to use. It was the motion of Havve’s head falling in his direction, somehow both sharp and slow. There was nothing real about him in that moment. Nothing real at all. Even in that still-silence of his, Havve was still Havve Hogan. 

This thing was hollow. 

This thing is what he had seen emerging on the ship before he had said ‘don’t.’

“Havve.” Not Hogan, Havve. His tongue darted out to wet his lips nervously, his voice shaking hard. “We’re going. Now.” Forget the Avis, forget Bombus, forget all of it. Havve kept looking through him though and Meouch felt the vomit climbing back up his throat. Don’t be a reaper, he was this close to screaming when he didn’t react. Don’t be a death god. Don’t be endless terror and horror, the threat of bloodshed. 

_Don’t. Don’t._

“Stone!” Star Trotter called with a warhawk’s cry, distracting him. The Golmi hadn’t moved since Meouch had last looked at him, his rocky face unreadable, his thoughts and words his own once more. “Come on! Let’s _go!”_ It was funny, in a way, to have a mutual understanding with someone without sharing the same logic or reasons, to be in agreement without having to say anything out loud. He almost laughed, but he moaned instead, fear getting the best of him.

But none of them could forget Kestrel, who’s blade was no longer hidden from them, her features tightly drawn. “To flee is futile, Star Trotter.” She called to him, pale wings folding around her as she floated down. She was so small, to the point where she could very easily be mistaken for a child if not for her ancient, roving eyes. Was she a hundred? Two hundred? Three hundred more? “Do you not realize how foolish this is? How _selfish_ you’ve become?” Her words were quick and brittle as she turned her robes out, tipping something out onto the sparkling ground below.

It didn’t make sense until it did, and even then Meouch still didn’t quite understand what he was really looking at. It was glittering curls of metal string, crushed pieces of mother-of-pearl, dark broken bits of shining wood... Guitar. She was scattering bits and pieces of a _guitar_ the ground. 

A gesture that meant something to everyone but him.

“Bitch.” Star Trotter was spitting viciously at the same time Havve’s drumming heartbeat increased, his attention swinging back to her. “You didn’t.” His voice was somehow a whisper and a scream, the feathers at his neck bristling as he stepped towards her. “We took an _oath_.”

Kestrel sneered. “Don’t talk to me of our ways, oath-breaker. Nothing is sacred to you.” She spat right back, her talons crushing the remains of the guitar underfoot. “We wouldn’t even be here if not for you. I told you. Selfish. You’re heedless even when it comes to your ‘friends.’” The buildings, it seemed, were leaning into them as they faced off. Mojave holding it’s collective breath before all hell broke loose.

There were always eyes watching in Mojave. Always. Which is why they had to _go_.

 _“...Oh gods…”_ Stone’s panicked voice had quieted infinitely as he held his face in his too large hands, bowing in on himself. He probably hadn’t even realized he was speaking into all of their heads directly and filling them with agonized dread, but it was all consuming, tinged with disbelief, confusion, fear. _“Bombustron.”_ He then said, and everything fell into place for him.

He could be dead, he could be alive, he could be long gone from here. Meouch didn’t _care_. “Havve.” He tried again, trying his best to ignore the sound of the sirens on the air as he tried to pull the other up, sweat pushing up through his fur. “Please-”

Havve pushed him.

Pushed him.

Pushed.

And just like that, Meouch was twelve again, the streets of Mojave painfully hot beneath his patchy fur as some Panthera member leered down at him. Time had smeared his face into nothingness, as had the countless drugs, but he remembered the words. He couldn’t ever forget them. “Yeah, Meouch, yeah?” It wasn’t Kion, he _knew_ it wasn’t, but if he closed his eyes it was close enough to his father’s rasping growl that it caused Meouch to jolt uselessly. “Don’t get so fucking close to me next time, faggot, or I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking fuck you up!” The other Leoian spat, downright manic. That was the Funk. That was what it meant to be Panthera. Raging. Always raging against the dying of the light.

Meouch let himself lay there despite the looming threat of Kestrel closing in, let himself be twelve and quiet and teetering again, for a second time in his life. Mojave had been the thing that pushed (pushed, yes, _pushed_ ) him over the edge. Not that exact moment, but everything that followed after. A catalyst. A crucible. A ruiner, A wrecker. A breaking point. 

He should have told Sung ‘no’ when he invoked the word Mojave into the too small kitchen space. Should have told him the truth of this awful world. Should have broken that synth so Havve would have the excuse to get rid of him. Should have told Phobos he was sorry. Should have kept his promise. Should have left them behind. Should have just been better, better, better _._

Gods, why couldn’t he just be fucking better yet already?

Someone was touching him as the sirens grew louder, their fingers catching in his fur painfully. _“Hey, hey.”_ He blinked and saw the sun, saw the sky, saw Stone; more mountain than man in that moment, his concern swelling as it won out over his anxiety _. “We gotta-”_

Go. But Meouch was frozen in place, replaying that moment over and over again. He was falling over and over, not quite hitting the ground yet but all too aware that it was coming, it was coming, it was…

“Hands up! Put your hands up now!”

Here. 

Now. 

-

He was static, and he liked it.

Because static meant not thinking. Static meant lack. Static meant that he was nothing more than a bladed being, absolute.

The logic was shockingly solid for his thought process, at least, that’s what Havve kept telling himself. If Kestrel took Stone and Star Trotter, or if she went and killed them, then it would be that much harder to find Bombus. So he’d kill her, and then he’d turn off the static, and then they would talk.

And if they didn’t give him answers, he’d turn it on again, and see where that got them.

Static and more static, he was losing track of it.

But static meant Kestrel wasn’t an Avis. Static meant she was less. Static meant there was no consequence cutting her open, to ripping her to shreds.

Static meant he was a killer.

Static meant he was made for this.

Star Trotter had decided to run. Whether it was as a distraction or cowardice, the static didn’t know or care. But Kestrel had taken after him immediately, which meant that Havve was following both of them. He shoved past countless people, the world blurring and becoming meaningless, his poised knife more than enough warning for most to jump out of the way. Through the wash of static he could hear his systems screaming at him, telling him he was pushing massive failure…

What would Sung say when he saw him?

The static swelled inside of him.

Sung didn’t matter right now, static meant.

But wasn’t he doing this for him?

The static hissed and popped, spluttered, gasped.

Wait. Wait. Oh gods, _wait._

He saw Star Trotter execute a sharp turn before veering back and to the right, causing both himself and Kestrel to pause, following the shape of the motion. Was he rounding back to Stone? To Meouch?

The static clipped and drew back, like waves before a storm.

Meouch…? He realized in the silence, the lack, memories rushing him.

_If I can’t, you can’t._

_Don’t. Don’t._

_“Please.”_ The Leoian had been _begging_ before he had pushed him.

Why had he pushed him? Why had he-

 _Meouch_ , he said into the quiet, as if he could somehow hear him like Sung could.

The static simply roared in response and swallowed him whole.

-

 

There were three Avis on the loose in Mojave and he was sitting at the bottom of the most elaborate shower known to man.

This would probably be funny looking back on it, but given the current circumstances, it was just another testament to how strange his life had become. Phobos drew his knees up to his chest quietly, only half focusing on the way the glass shimmered and shifted as he let his thoughts wander from him. He had told the other boys it would only be five minutes, no more than that, but that had been before he had taken a moment to think. Really think about impossible things like boys falling from the sky, Sung’s rage, life as they ought to know it ripped apart. Real things too, like Sung’s hand in his, the taste of lemon on his tongue, Mojave, Mojave...

What he would give for Deimos to just be _alive_. He didn’t even have to be here, just somewhere out there in the great beyond, a single call away. And Titania, and Chiron, and little Io too. All of his friends, his family, doing what they had been made to do. 

“Universal Emissaries.” He mouthed silently to himself, the water falling into his mouth and swallowing the sound.

Bombus had asked Sung what he would do if he had the power to change things. To alter the very shape and flow of the Universe. “I would run.” He had said, sounding so certain, so unafraid and strong. And Phobos had known he hadn’t meant in fear. Sung wouldn’t ever hide from it all. He’d put himself out there and do something, change it for the better…

That had been their goal too, once upon a time. To go out into the far reaches of space, to make a difference, to show the Universe that the Lepids were no longer solitary or confined to themselves, hidden away from everybody else.

And then- screaming. Panic. Fire. Smoke. Funk on the air. Meouch’s claws. Ashes. Embers. Blood.

Deimos. Terror. Deimos. Dead.

He drew in a shuddering breath and felt the scars on his back stretch, trying to squash down the panic. Sometimes, Phobos was so certain he’d wake up in a pool of his own blood, as if they had ripped themselves apart. Other days, more wishful, hopeful days, he’d wake up with new wings sprouting from the stumps. He would still be the same as he was every time though. Just Phobos, somehow both broken and whole.

The glass darkened suddenly and inexplicably, throwing the Lepid into an infinite darkness swollen with endless galaxies and stars. The first time it had happened he had nearly shit himself, not expecting it before it glitched out, but this time he welcomed it. The Lepid reached out, not surprised when his fingers slipped into the nearest nebulous gas cloud. It was all an illusion, Mojave magic, no more than lights playing off the shower steam. 

That didn’t stop him from peering further into the inky black that existed between the stars and planets and bits and pieces of floating rock and space dust despite knowing it wasn’t real, letting it anchor him. Somewhere, someone was experiencing something just as strange as he was. Possibly even more so. In a universe filled with metal jungles and all knowing monsters, bottomless lakes and mirrored selves, endless skyscrapers and immortality... there would always be something _more_.

You are not alone Phobos, the whispered echo of Deimos’s voice told him as the stars seemed to swell around him, lungs following suit. You are never, ever alone.

The scene shifted into a tropical paradise of pink sand and foaming surf and Phobos let himself relax. He ought to get up and towel off so they could get shit figured out, but it was all too easy to hug his legs tighter to his body, close his eyes tiredly, tip his head and antennae back into the stream…

“Phobos.” He jumped and skittered his legs out before drawing them back in again when he heard Sung’s voice, like that would somehow cover his indecency. “Did you drown in there, bud?” There was a small pause that followed, then a huff of a laugh as something thumped against the door. Sung’s fist probably, or maybe his head. “Wow, forgot you really can’t answer that, can ya? Uh, I’m giving you a couple more minutes then, I guess, before I bust down the door. Hope that’s fair.” 

He meant well, Phobos knew he did, but his cheeks still flamed furiously. He hoped he hadn’t worried the empath at all. Sung spoke again, voice meek and small, something a bright and vibrant thing like Sung shouldn’t even be capable of. “If anything it gives me a good excuse to- well, you know.” The pause that followed was limitless.

Get away from Bombus, he meant.

Phobos’s toes curled on the tile as he tilted his head in the direction of the door, a frown creasing his face. It was insane to think that such an odd creature had been a part of the empath’s life once not too long ago, but then again, hadn’t it been the same for him until very recently? Quiet, stilted, nothing quite coming together right. But they hadn’t ever fought. Not the way Bombus and Sung seemed to have had. He couldn’t imagine ever fighting with Sung.

Couldn’t bear it.

The scene shifted as he sat there in silence, presenting Phobos a dusky mountain range made up of brilliant purples and blues, the sun spilling over their snow capped peaks. “Sorry, for this, by the way.” He heard Sung sigh, long and heavy and painful over the sound of running water. “You remember when I said this was supposed to be a vacation? Funny joke...” Oh Sung, he wanted to say, it had been for a while, for a little bit. Wonderful and strange and unlike anything Phobos had experienced before. Not that he really had any point of reference concerning any of that. 

No one could have predicted the turn of events. Well, except the Fates, but their knowledge was infinite. “Can I tell you a secret, Phobs?” Sung’s voice dropped slightly, making him almost impossible to hear. Phobos tilted his head further, trying to catch it. “...I haven’t even told Havve yet. He’d fucking flip.”

Phobos pressed an immediate wet hand to his mouth, biting back the laugh that threatened to leave him. He could see it, that was the terrible thing about Sung’s secret, the robot straight up throttling Bombus. Very plausible indeed, and morbidly faultless. Could Sung feel his amusement from beyond the door? He sure hoped so. “Anyways. I’m rambling. I’ll uh, leave you to it. You can probably barely hear me, anyways.” That should have been the end of it, and scene. Nothing else left but for Phobos to get out of the shower and towel himself off, but then he heard Sung laugh.

Except he didn’t, not really. Not the way Sung normally laughed.

It was a pained exclamation shaped into the sound of a laugh at the last second, probably without the other boy even thinking about it. It invoked the image of his face falling before they had gotten to the hotel, his core going dark. Him sitting all alone in the darkness of the cockpit with the pylon clutched to his chest, spinning on and on and on... 

And that’s how Phobos found himself nearly slipping on the slick marble of the bathroom floor as he rushed the door, remembering to grab a towel at the last second before he threw it open, mouth following suit. Sung, the empath’s name was seconds from exploding out of him. Screw the vow. Screw using his hands to try and explain himself. Sung, Sung, Sung, his heart demanded he yelp.

“Oh.” Sung said after a moment, broken only by the sound of water dripping off of him, eye unblinking and wide. “You’re alive. That’s good.”

The litany of Sung’s paused at the threshold of his lips as he came to realize that he was sopping wet, his hair plastered to his forehead, showing far too much skin... The other boy’s eye skipped down, then immediately back up, freckled face turning bright red. “And uh, um, well, I’m sure you’re… aware.” He tried to laugh, and this time he managed it, although it was pitched high and tight and nervous as his core flashed disturbingly bright. 

At least he wasn’t _completely_ naked. That’s what he kept telling himself at least to keep himself from dying of absolute embarrassment. 

‘ _Sorry._ ’ Phobos signed after securing the towel. ‘ _You just…_ ’ What? Sounded like you were drowning outside of water? Like you were slowly losing one of the most important parts of yourself? ‘ _You sounded_ sad _._ ’ He settled on finally, antennae struggling to curl self consciously despite how wet they were. 

Sung’s eyebrow shot up before he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “Oh. He said in such a way that it meant he hadn’t thought anything of it. It had been subconscious. Involuntary in a sad and aching way. “Oh. I’m sorry, Phobos.”

‘ _Sorry!?_ ’ Phobos flapped his hands in incredulity, astounded that those very words had come out. ‘ _Don’t be sorry!_ ’

Sung flushed further and spluttered, holding up his hands. “But…”

And it wasn’t that Phobos didn’t care when he interrupted Sung. It was that he cared too much. _‘You’re upset! Because of him! And I don’t know anything except for the fact that he makes you feel bad! Worse than Meouch! And I don’t like that!’_ He could feel frustrated tears springing to his eyes, but he had to say it. He couldn’t hold it back. _‘And it’s obvious he doesn’t realize it either! And that’s bullshit! Because you’re…you’re...’_

Sung.

And who could ever do that?

Sung gave a third laugh. This one small and rueful, catching Phobos’s wrists to still his fluttering hands, rendering him speechless. “It’s okay.” But it wasn’t, and his face must have conveyed as such when his hands couldn’t because the other boy laughed more, the sound ringing and joyous and purely _Sung_ . “Alright. Spin that in the future tense. Everything _will_ be okay. This is just… a little bump in the road, is all. There’s been much worse.”

Sung released his hands slowly and Phobos really wished he hadn’t, but he was gesturing excitedly as went off on a new tangent, eye widening. “I never got to tell you how… how fucking cool you looked earlier! In the waterway, with the paddle of all things.” The empath babbled abruptly, causing Phobos’s own eyes to go wide in response. He was all dimples and teeth when he smiled and Phobos had to smile back tenatively in tandem, the universe demanding it. “You didn’t even hesitate. You just-” He took a step closer, core turning a warm and pleasant light. “You saved the day. Phobos.” 

‘ _I broke a girl’s nose._ ’ Phobos managed awkwardly, all too aware of the lack of space between them, the fact that he was _still_ just wearing a towel...

“An _Avis_ girl’s nose.” Sung grinned, touching his knuckles to his bare shoulder, prompting pure, traitorous bliss to unfurl in him, putting his feelings on full display for the empath. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“Hey!”

It was Bombus of course. Shouting down the hallway at them, causing their bodies to jump apart. He was dressed in a jacket and jeans that had _not_ been shredded by an Avis but instead had been probably been bought that way, for whatever reason, his tan face unreadable. “Are we going, or what?” He huffed, ears flicking nervously.

“Yeah, Bombus, yeah.” Sung’s devastating grin flipped itself upside down, shifting into a vicious sneer. It was ugly and Phobos didn’t like seeing the shape of it on him. “Let’s just take the Lepid out in public like this.” One secret traded for another, a hidden god for a lost Lepid lord. He didn’t like that he was known to someone who wasn’t Havve or Sung or even Meouch, for that matter. Didn’t like that Bombus was the only other person who did.

“Dude.” The Sileni looked tired, bruised. “Can we just…”

Sung brushed past him, all stiff shouldered and hard eyed, leaving them behind wordlessly. Bombus further wilted and Phobos couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the sight. He was just trying to find his friends, make sure they were safe…

(But he had hurt him. He had hurt him. He had-)

 _‘I’ll get ready.’_ He mouthed at Bombus, who probably didn’t see it, and probably didn’t care. 

Bombus had laid out clothes for them that Sung had decided to forgo, apparently, and Phobos was half tempted to follow suit. It was all dark and spiked and safety pinned together, the exact opposite of what he was slowly discovering was his personal fashion sense. He slipped a jean vest on and froze when he saw himself reflected over and over again in a nearby broken mirror, open mouthed and wide eyed and so very different. He looked… older. Still not as old as the version of himself the Annatta had showed him on Lumachroma, but slowly bending towards it.

He shucked it off quickly and joined the other two in the main room in his usual gear. Sung had his helmet tucked under his arm and his pylon on his head, mouth pressed extra thin. “There’s still a possibility they can come back here.” He was telling Bombus, voice tightly clipped. “Can’t you leave something…?”

“That those bitches can find? Look at this place, Sung.” Such a shame, Phobos thought to himself sadly as he took in the sight of the room one final time. You could see the horizon curving in the distance through the endless window, where space met the sky. “We’ve got two different Avis to be on the lookout for, and there might be more. We’re not leaving anything behind.” Bombus scoffed rudely, apparently back to being a full on prick.

Sung’s mouth thinned further somehow, nostrils flaring pissily. ‘ _If he checks the room out early, they’ll lose access to this floor, one would assume._ ’ Phobos offered in the silence that followed, deciding to play peacemaker before shit hit the fan. ‘ _Hopefully they’d get the hint, not stick around, go somewhere else._ ’ That was more for Sung’s sake, even though he knew Bombus couldn’t understand him.

The other boy nodded approvingly, stroking what little facial hair he had at the end of his chin. “True. Very, very true, Phobos.” At the Sileni’s questioning gaze Sung asked him. “Did you… ever come up with a rendezvous point if something like this were to happen? Somewhere you could lay low and hide?” 

Bombus truly smiled for the first time since he had crash landed into their lives and Phobos could see how Sung had been taken with him when they had first arrived. It was the gap in his teeth that gave him an air of mischief, all four eyes lighting up like he had a story to tell. Bombustron was a jack in the box, ready to spring. “As a matter of fact, we did. A little place called Protogenum, at Nyx’s hour.” He announced, looking smug.

Oh Comedy. Oh Tragedy. Oh Irony most of all. It _would_ be in the name of Nyx, the goddess of night, that Bombus and his friends found safety and protection in. Mother of Fates, daughter of Chaos… it only made sense, so much that Phobos wanted to laugh, but he knew better than to do that now.

“Okay, so... let’s go.” Sung, godless and eager, unfortunately did not understand. They could go, and they could wait. And wait and wait and wait until midnight hit. When neither he nor Bombus moved Sung’s fists curled at his sides, core dimming with obvious annoyance. “Guys. Seriously. You were just talking about how they can come back here at any point-”

 _‘Sung. We’ve got…’_ What time was it anyways? Where had the morning gone? _‘We’ve still got some time to kill, if that’s the case. Maybe we should find Havve first, reconvene. No one’s going to be there until midnight…’_ And _that_ was if they were lucky. 

If they hadn’t been taken. If they hadn’t been killed.

Ignoring that insistence hounding inside his head, Phobos knew the ship would be the safest place anyways. Even with the bad blood between Bombus and Havve, it would be familiar ground for Sung to feel stable upon, somewhere not suspect. That didn’t stop a muscle in Sung’s cheek from jumping, jaw working left-right-left as he tried to logic his way out of it. What other choice did they have though? What else could happen? _‘We can just sit in your room and wait. You don’t even have to talk to him anymore.’_ Phobos added for good measure, clasping his hands in front of him. He really, really didn’t want to beg at this point. He just wanted to get out of here...

“Fine. Alright.” Sung groaned abruptly, apparently conceding. And thank the gods for that stupid pylon, Phobos delighted, because his relief was astounding. “I’m relinquishing responsibility over Havve though. That’s my ultimatum.” 

 _‘I’ll take it.’_ Phobos smiled brightly, unable to help himself.

His lips quirked under the dark of his visor and Phobos felt his heart skip a beat. “Of course you will. Now give me a second. I’m gonna-” Sung tipped his head back and for a moment the younger boy saw a sliver of the empath’s face, all furrowed lines and angles and concentrated energy. Was Havve still on the ship? Phobos wondered as he looked away. Had he convinced Meouch to follow him? Would he actually throttle Bombus, or would he just-

“Sung.” Bombus said, and it was almost a question but not quite. 

Shut up, Phobos was this close to snapping, but didn’t.

“ _Sung_.” Bombus said again, sounding panicked.

Phobos whipped towards his friend just in time to see him falling, falling; his core completely dark.

 

-

_Hey, Havve!_

He wasn’t there.

He wasn’t anywhere, actually.

It wasn’t quite the same thing on Metalion, and Sung was eternally grateful for that. There had only been complete silence then, nothing to pull on, complete emptiness. Here, Sung could feel himself... falling, almost, deeper and deeper into the heart of their link as something buzzed around him, painfully insistent.

It was familiar in a way that was unfamiliar to him. Like a memory he ought to have. _Havve!_ He called again. The falling had stopped and now the treading began. At least that part was as it should be. _Where are you?_ Sung tried again, trying to tell himself that everything was fine, that he was just overthinking it… _Are you-_

Okay?

He was facing a door now, which surprised him. It had never been a door before. The link could be a string, a wall. A streaming of consciousness that was equal parts dreams and nightmares, colors and words. 

But never a door. 

Sung hadn’t even realized that the buzzing had stopped when he touched the doorknob. _Havve_. He tried a third time, a final time, as he pulled the door open.

Only for the buzzing to scream back to life as he did, his brain registering too late that it was _static_.

 

-

_“This is bad.”_

_Bad_ was an understatement, made comical by the way Stone paced the length of their cell, surprisingly quiet for a living thing made of, well, stone. His frown was heavy in Meouch’s mind, like a low hanging moon, growing larger and heavier with each moment that passed between when they had been taken in and now. 

“For the twentieth time, it’s fine.” It was _not_ fine, but Meouch would keep telling him that until the noose of anxiety Stone was looping around their throats would let up. Impending circumstances aside, Meouch couldn’t help but notice that this was a nicer holding facility than he was used to from his Panthera hey days. Clean and spacious and well lit. He was almost impressed. 

 _“They cuffed us! They put us behind bars!”_ Stone ranted, repeating the same conversation they had had twenty fucking times before, not seeing anything wrong with the fact. _“And gods know where our friends are!”_

He had not said that part before, and it sliced into Meouch nice and neat, like a knife. Friends. He didn’t have friends. Sung wasn’t his friend. Phobos definitely wasn’t his friend. And Havve most of all. Havve was not his friend. Havve was…

Death, pale and looming.

Inevitable. 

How could Sung and Phobos stand such a thing? Why did they even want to?

“...How old are you?” Meouch asked suddenly, wanting to think of other things, to distract himself. Stone turned to him in response, tilting his craggy face to the left, and then to the right. 

 _“Thirteen.”_ He announced into Meouch’s head proudly, as if he had fished the answer from some great recess of his mind. _“Why?”_

Meouch balked. He had thought Phobos and Sung were young, but Stone was an actual child. A large and intimidating child, but still just a gods damned kid. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re, y’know.” He gestured with his paw, brow drawing down over his eyes from under his bandana. “Unhewn.” It wasn’t a lie. It just also wasn’t the truth either. Stone didn’t need to know that.

Stone touched his rough face with his even rougher hands before shrugging, pulling his thoughts back into him. One less voice in his head. One less thing digging into him. _“I’ve always been like this.”_ Stone reentered after a beat, voice soft and boyish. 

Meouch blinked, not expecting that. “Your parents didn’t…?”

 _“Oh, I never met them. I didn’t grow up on Lapidarius.”_ He said it so simply, without any kind of weight to it, as one who never really knew what any kind of pain was would. Meouch envied that. _“I clawed my way out of the ground in Mama’s garden.”_ There was a radiant, sunshine-y kind of feeling settling over him and it took Meouch a moment to realize that it was undeniable, unconditional love, a feeling he had almost forgotten. The purest kind. 

All it did though was make him painfully aware of his own growing rot. Of a mother he hadn’t allowed himself to look for after all these years, caught between the fear of her learning what he had become (like his father, but broken in a different way, fucked up instead of fearless) and finding out she was gone. 

 He tried so, so hard not to think of his own mother, of their small home on the shifting steppes of Serenitatis, of how much he missed playing the piano. His claws hooked into one of the scabs on his wrist, worrying it silently. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about Satelles. Don’t think about the Lepid Massacre.

Gods, don’t think about Phobos. Don’t think about Funk. Little demands that he knew were impossible. That he would just fail at.

_Don’t. Don’t._

_“Hey! You’re bleeding!”_

Meouch’s eyes flicked down to see small droplets of his blood now marring the floor, marking it as his, all kinds of ugly. He smiled grimly in response, reminded of all the damage on Sung’s ship he had managed to inflict since waking up on it. Ripped sheets and torn walls and chipped chinaware. You are a wound. You are festering. You are something meant to be cut out, that ugly little voice inside his head reminded him. _“Do I need to call someone? Are you okay?”_ Stone panicked, somehow managing to push the voice out.

“...Leoian’s heal quick.” He told the younger boy, another truth and a lie. His paws were a great example of that. There was almost nothing there now to show for how Havve had ripped them up, even if he hadn’t meant to. “Don’t worry about it.”

If Stone had been Sung there would have been a crumpling of sorts before the empath fell away from him. But Stone wasn’t Sung. He was something and someone completely different. And maybe it was because they were strangers with nothing to tie them to one another, or because he was thirteen and fearless in a way that unscarred children were so good at, but suddenly Stone was all up in his business, a piece of his cloak ripped and at the ready, crowding him. “Hey! Personal space!” Meouch barked in response, teeth showing themselves instinctively.

 _“You’re annoying.”_ Stone told him simply, his frustration a cresting wave. _“More than anyone I’ve ever known.”_

“Annoying!?” Meouch parroted back in disbelief. “Excuse you, I’m older than you!”

Stone’s face was unmoving and impassive, but he rose two eyebrows incredulously inside of Meouch’s head. _“And?”_ As if to say: who isn’t?

Meouch nearly screamed. “And you don’t get to talk to me like that!” This could not be happening right now. He couldn’t fucking believe it. Like when Phobos had kicked him. Too surreal to comprehend, his brain _still_ trying to process it.

 _“I can talk however I so please, especially to rude people who don’t even know how to say thank you when being helped.”_ Stone’s voice was somehow petulant and proud. _“You’re welcome, by the way.”_ He huffed before pivoting away, ruined cloak flapping behind him.

Oh? There, on his wrist, was a bandage nice and neat and passable. He blinked at it, then at Stone, before looking down-up-down again. “...Stone…” He started, speaking at the floor, shame propelling him.

But it didn’t matter, because someone else was here.

The man that entered wasn’t anyone he thought he knew, but that didn’t stop Meouch from slouching further against the wall, trying to make himself look less noticeable. “Now this is a pairing I didn’t think I would ever see. A Golmi and a Leoian. Unhewn and…” His eyes casted over the top of Meouch’s head from behind his dark glasses, mouth quirking into a near-smirk. “Well, so cowardly, I suppose.”

He felt a growl crawling up inside of him. At first glance, this man looked painfully human and unassuming, but he could be anything. Such was the joy of Mojave, after all. Meouch scented the air experimentally and the man’s smile turned more approving as he stepped forward, blonde curls catching in the above head lighting, shadowing his eyes like a skull. “Now that’s using your natural abilities, my friend.”

“We’re not friends.” Meouch snapped, tail echoing the sentiment, anger boiling up unbidden from inside of him. 

“But we could be, if you stopped being so sullen over there. You too, of course.” He addressed Stone, who watched him facelessly. His blue eyes cut to Meouch’s only to roll up and back. “Don’t give me that look, like I’m about to yank the rug out from under you, pull a bad cop. I don’t have any interest in that, gentlemen.”

 _“What do you have interest in?”_ Stone asked when Meouch refused to, curiosity getting the best of him.

“Money. Chaos. Infamy.” His teeth flashed, his features leered, nothing felt real anymore. “Fucking things up, generally.”

Meouch looked at Stone, who was staring at the strange man with a sense of fascination coiling off of him, growing like an oncoming storm. Not good. This guy was pushing all the right buttons with this kid. Not that it would probably take much. Nip it in the bud, Meouch, before you lost control. “How much did you pay the Federation off to be in here right now?” They were corrupt here. It was plausible. But it wasn’t easy to get them to bend. Not that it mattered. They (read: he) couldn’t afford getting tangled up with some handsome stranger. Not when they (read: he?) just needed to get out of here. “Just who the hell are you, man?” Claws out, teeth bared, anything but cowardly.

“They call me the Space Cowboy.” He laughed with a sideways grin, unbothered by the display. “But you can call me Rich.”


End file.
